


Defiant

by thestorygirl



Series: Angel Welfare Task Force [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angel Wings, Angst, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Castiel Whump, Drug Withdrawal, Drugged Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grace Bonds, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Lawyer Sam, M/M, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Police Officer Dean, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slave Castiel, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 133,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2180202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestorygirl/pseuds/thestorygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has devoted his career as a police officer to helping angel slaves in any way that he can. He even formed and heads the "Angel Welfare Task Force," which involved him being called to consult on any case involving slaves. This passion stemmed from an incident that happened twenty years previously, when a thirteen year old Dean failed to help his friend Castiel escape being sold to a sadistic owner.</p><p>Dean had never really harbored any hope of finding his friend. He saw his work as something he did in memory of Castiel, to prevent others from suffering the same fate. But, when called out on a routine case one day, Dean was startled to find that he recognized the victim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! This is my first fanfic ever, and thus my first time posting on AO3. Tags are... confusing... so please let me know if I've missed anything and I will be sure to rectify my mistakes.
> 
> I'm reluctant to set a specific day or time for updates, as that is one way to ensure that I will miss my deadline, but I will try to make updates as regular as possible.
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are encouraged. I like to know which parts of the story work for people, and which do not. I will do my best to respond and answer any questions.

Prologue

 

The first time Dean Winchester saw an angel’s wings, he was six years old. And it was completely by accident. He’d been sent upstairs by Hester with orders to wash up for lunch. As he approached the bathroom he heard the spray of the shower, and he paused at the sound.

He knew that his mother was out in the dorms, working with the newest group of angel fledglings that had arrived at their training facility just days ago. His father had gone into town with a group of older angels that had completed their training and were ready to be auctioned off. He’d just seen his younger brother in the kitchen before he ascended the stairs. So who was in the bathroom?

Dean opened the door, his movements instinctively slow and careful. His eyes widened at the sight of an angel fledgling perched on the edge of the bathtub, his tiny ebony hued wings stretched toward the fine mist of the shower. Every so often, the fledgling would move a few steps to the side, away from the spray, and shake off the water droplets, feather’s fluffing up in a way that reminded Dean of a bird.

The young angel looked to be close to the same age as Dean, and had a shock of unruly dark hair only a few shades lighter than his wings. His eyes were closed, and a blissful smile spread across his face as he played in the water. After one particularly vigorous shake, the fledgling opened his eyes, perhaps sensing that he was no longer alone. For an instant, Dean found himself fixed with a brilliant blue gaze before, with a startled gasp, the angel tumbled backwards into the tub.

“Hey!” exclaimed Dean. He ran into the bathroom and turned off the water. 

“Where’d your wings go?” he asked, for the black wings had vanished, leaving a soaking wet visage that would have been virtually indistinguishable from a human child, save for the collar engraved with Enochian sigils. 

“I put them away,” said the angel. Long minutes passed as he and Dean stared at one another before Dean leaned forward and offered his hand. The fledgling looked at him in shock, and made no move to accept the offer of assistance.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Helping you up,” said Dean. The angel shook his head.

“Masters aren’t supposed to help slaves,” he said, eyes darting around the room as though he expected to be caught and reprimanded at any moment. Dean reached down and grasped the fledgling’s arm with his chubby hand, staggering a bit as he hauled the dripping angel to his feet.

“I’m not a master,” he said. “I’m Dean.” The angel fixed him with another piercing stare before  allowing a slow smile to creep across his features.

“Hello, Dean,” he said. “I’m---“

“Castiel!” Boy and angel both jumped as Hester appeared in the doorway. “You are not supposed to be here! You are supposed to be receiving your first lesson from Master Mary.”  Castiel lifted his eyes to meet Hester’s.

“I don’t want to go to lessons,” he said boldly.

“You don’t have a choice,” said Hester, lightly fingering her own collar. “Slaves do as they’re told.  Now march yourself to the dorms and apologize to Master Mary. Perhaps your punishment will be mild.”

*******

The second time Dean Winchester saw an angel’s wings, he was ten years old. He’d set off across the grounds toward the forest as soon as his father’s back was turned, dragging his little brother along with him. They walked in silence, Sam trotting to keep pace with Dean’s longer strides.

It had been an exceptionally rainy spring, and the creek at the edge of the property had flooded, turning into a deep, rushing stream. Castiel crouched at the water’s edge, doodling in the mud with a stick as he gazed across the churning torrent.

“There he is, Dean!” cried Sam, pointing.

“I see him, Sammy,” said Dean.  He raised his voice so as to be heard over the crash of water over rocks. “Hey, Cas!” Castiel glanced over his shoulder at the approaching brothers before turning his attention back to the swollen creek.

“Hello, Dean,” he said as the boy crouched beside him in the mud. “You found me.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Of course I found you. Like you ever go anywhere else.” Castiel didn’t respond. Dean’s jaw tightened as he took in the fresh bruises on Castiel’s face, and the newer, more densely engraved collar around his neck. He wondered what the angel had done to get himself in trouble this time.

“Hi, Cas,” said Sam. He tucked himself up against Castiel’s other side, grinning up at the angel when Castiel draped an arm over his shoulders and drew the six year old into a half hug.

“It’s good to see you, Sam,” said Castiel. “Dean tells me that you won the math prize at school.  Well done.”  Sam beamed.

“I counted all the way to a hundred, just like you taught me,” he said. “No one else in the class could do it.”

“Sammy,” said Dean, “Why don’t you go to Dad and tell him that we found Cas in the cornfield, okay?” Sam’s face fell at the dismissal, and he reluctantly removed himself from Castiel’s side.

“Okay,” he said, and began trudging back the way they came.

“You didn’t have to send him away, Dean,” said Castiel, once he was sure that Sam was out of earshot.

“It’ll buy us a little more time,” said Dean.  “Dad’s got everyone looking for you. He’s pissed. What’d you do?”

“I stepped in during Hael’s punishment. She didn’t mean to get the silverware order wrong. Such trivial things are so difficult to keep track of. I also might have reminded John that we weren’t animals.” Dean groaned.

“Jeez, Cas, how many times---“ he broke off, quickly turning around. “Did you hear that?” Castiel remained facing the stream.

“All I can hear is the water,” he said.

“We’re kind of out in the open, here,” said Dean. “You think you could get us over to the other side? We can sit behind that rock, then, and it’ll be hard for anyone to see us.”

“Of course,” said Castiel. He placed one hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean heard a flutter of wings. After a brief moment of disorientation, he found himself on the opposite bank of the brook. The landing was a little rougher than usual, and Dean was about to make a comment to Castiel about it when the angel staggered into him and doubled over, panting.

“What happened?” cried Dean, alarmed. He dragged Castiel behind the protective cover of the rock, and helped him sit down.

“It’s this new collar,” said Castiel after he’d managed to catch his breath. He leaned his head back against the rock and closed his eyes. “It’s making everything more difficult.”  Dean knew that each angel’s collar was individually tailored to that angel’s personality and temperament. John changed Castiel’s collars with much frequency in an attempt to make the rebellious angel more obedient with stronger spells and sigils.

“It’s affecting your flying now? Why? It’s not like you can escape. The collars make it so that you can’t go farther than the property line.”

“It’s affecting my grace in general,” said Castiel. “It’s suppressing it to the point where it’s hard for me to pull my body out of this dimension in order to fly.” Dean scuffed the toe of his sneaker in the dirt.

“And that’s why you’re not healing, too, I suppose?” Castiel’s answer was a barely perceptible nod of his head.

“Alright, this is what I was talking about. Why do you keep doing stupid stuff like this? It only hurts you in the end.” Castiel opened his eyes and turned to face Dean. His gaze was equal parts annoyance and disappointment.

“What would you have me do? Stand by while Hael is beaten for no good reason? Quietly accept the doctrine that John is trying to force down all of our throats, that angels are inferior beings, our only value being how we can please our masters? Dean, without this collar, I would have enough power to level this whole facility with a thought. How is that inferior? Why is it that you humans feel the need to stifle and bind us, and to use us in any way that suits you?”

Dean squirmed uncomfortably. Castiel was the only angel he’d ever heard to speak of such things. Most angels seemed happy to serve, seemed almost to crave orders. As he started to help John and Mary more and more with training, he’d even come across angels that seemed to fall to pieces if not given enough leadership and direction.

“I dunno, Cas. Angels have always served humans. It’s been like this throughout all of history. If you would just---“

“If I would just behave and accept John’s training like a good little angel.  Call him and Mary and you and Sam ‘Master?’ Act as though my only joy in life comes from hopping to your beck and call so that one day John will take me to auction and sell me off to someone who will use me for…” Castiel trailed off.

“You know I think that ‘Master’ stuff is crap,” said Dean.

“Do you? Because you seem to be saying the opposite, right now.”

“No, what I’m saying is that maybe if you shape up you can stay here, and you won’t have to worry about being sold.” Castiel pulled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

“I don’t know what would be worse,” said Castiel after a period of silence. “To be sold off or to remain here and have to watch so many of my brothers and sisters being broken. To grow up with you and Sam, and to have to watch the two of you become your father.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that, and resulting silence was probably the most uncomfortable he’d ever been around Castiel. Desperate to ease the tension, Dean said the first thing that popped into his head.

“Dude, how come I never actually see your wings when you fly?”

“Because my wings are in another dimension,” said Castiel.  “You know that.”

“Yeah,” said Dean, “But that first day we met, remember, in the bathroom?  You had your wings in this dimension then.”

“I can bring my wings forth if I choose to,” said Castiel. “But, you must understand that for an angel, wings are a very private, personal part of us. We only display our wings to those with whom we are very comfortable, those in whom we have a lot of trust. It’s not something to be taken lightly. Even most slave owners will not ask or force an angel to manifest his or her wings. There are some lines that even you humans refuse to cross.”

Dean wondered if that meant that Castiel didn’t trust him, wasn’t comfortable around him. Dean found that he didn’t like the idea. He trusted Castiel. Why wouldn’t Castiel feel the same?

Castiel got to his feet. Dean rose with him, eyeing Castiel’s look of intense concentration with a frown.

“Hey, Cas, don’t strain yourself---“ began Dean, but was cut off by Castiel’s wings materializing with a quiet rustle of feathers. After that, all Dean could do was stare. Though Castiel himself was still kind of scrawny looking, his wings had changed dramatically in four years.

The last time Dean saw Castiel’s wings, they’d barely spanned his shoulders. Now, the wings stretched out four feet on either side of him. In place of the fluffy, black down had grown sleek, shining black feathers that gleamed in the sunlight.

Unconsciously, Dean stretched out a hand toward the wing closest to him. Though his eyes were still closed, Castiel seemed to sense Dean’s intent, and drew back the wing several inches out of Dean’s reach.

“Please, Dean,” said Castiel, and Dean dropped his hand.

“Sorry,” he said. “Your wings are incredible.” He couldn’t stop the soft, disappointed sound that escaped his throat when the wings disappeared from view. Castiel smiled apologetically, rolling his shoulders.

“It’s just that, they’re the only part of me that’s truly mine,” he said. “They are the only part of me that I have any real control over and… I want to keep that for myself.”

*******

Dean Winchester was thirteen years old the third time he saw an angel’s wings. A faint rattling of his bedroom window woke him in the middle of the night. He got out of bed and padded across the carpet and looked outside. Castiel stood just below his bedroom, poised to throw another handful of pebbles at the window. Dean motioned to him to stay put, that he’d be right down, before turning away and throwing on yesterday’s jeans and T-shirt.

He crept down the stairs, mindful of the three places on the way down that squeaked, and eased the front door shut behind him with a quiet click. He shivered slightly in the nighttime chill, whishing he’d thought to bring his jacket or a hoodie. It was too risky to go back inside, though, and he resigned himself to discomfort for the duration of whatever Castiel had planned.

“Hello, Dean,” said Castiel once Dean rounded the corner of the house and approached him.

“How did you get out?” asked Dean, brushing the greeting aside. “I thought Dad reinforced the containment sigils on your dorm.”

“John consistently underestimates the power of force of will,” said Castiel. He turned and started walking in the direction of the creek. Dean fell into step beside him, noticing that he seemed a little paler than normal. He probably drained himself fighting his way through the sigils on the dormitory.

“You alright?” asked Dean.

“I’m fine,” said Castiel. “I just have a favor to ask of you.”

“Okay,” said Dean. “Spill.” Castiel sighed, his shoulders slumping a bit, though his stride never faltered.

“John has informed me that I’m likely to be sold tomorrow,” he said.

“Huh?” said Dean, confused. “But there’re no auctions for months yet.”

“There is a private buyer coming to the house.” Dean raised his eyebrows. John and Mary generally sold their trained angels via auction. Winchester trained angels were in high demand, and an auction was the perfect way to ensure that the price was driven up beyond what could be gained from merely negotiating with one party.

“Okay,” he said, slowly. “That still doesn’t make sense. You’re not ready to be sold. Just a few days ago, Dad was talking about how he didn’t think he’d ever be able to sell you without ruining his and Mom’s reputation.” Dean didn’t mention the fate that John had grimly predicted would befall Castiel in the event that training failed. He had quietly resolved to try and convince the angel, yet again, that it would be in his best interest to start toeing the line and to accept his place in the world.

Dean was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t pay enough attention to where he was walking, and in the dark, misjudged the curve of the path. His foot slipped on some loose rocks and he found himself tumbling down the ravine, landing hard on the rocky bank of the creek.

Castiel was at his side in an instant.

“Where are you hurt?” he demanded, his authoritative tone more suited to a Master than a slave.

Dean sat up slowly, wincing at the throbbing pain in his head. He raised a shaky hand to his temple, and wasn’t surprised when he saw that his fingers were smeared with blood. His leg, too, was sluggishly oozing blood from a gash along his calf.

“Hold still,” said Castiel, and reached a hand toward Dean’s forehead. Dean caught his wrist before he could make contact.

“No, Cas, I know you just got a new collar---“ Castiel shook Dean’s hand off and, ignoring his protests, and lightly touched two fingers to his forehead. For a brief moment, the pain intensified, before disappearing altogether. Even the rip in his jeans was repaired. Castiel’s lips curved in a tired smile before he listed to one side. Dean managed to lunge forward and grab him before he hit the ground.

“We’ve been through this, Cas. Don’t try to use your power if it’s going to knock you on your ass.” Dean hefted both himself and Castiel up and half supported, half dragged the angel the few feet to where a log had fallen at the water’s edge.

Castiel didn’t respond. He never responded or argued when Dean chastised him. He never listened, either; instead simply allowing Dean to say his piece and then continuing to do whatever the hell he wanted anyway.

Dean helped Castiel to sit down on the log. The angel closed his eyes and canted his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he listened to the sound of the water trickling over the rocks.

“I bet this is what you’ll miss most of all, huh,” said Dean. Castiel’s eyes opened, startlingly blue even in the faint light of the moon, and he turned to face Dean.

“I will miss this spot,” he said, “But it is not what I will miss most of all, no.” Castiel continued to gaze at Dean, and Dean felt his face flush. He cleared his throat and put another inch of space between the two of them before saying,

“So, this favor. What do you want me to do?”

“I wish to escape,” said Castiel, never blinking or breaking eye contact. “I wish to be free.” Dean’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“You want me to take off your collar,” he said. Castiel nodded, eyes still locked onto Dean’s. Angel collars were designed in such a way as to make them impossible for an angel to remove by himself. All collars were inscribed with containment sigils and spells and, in cases of extreme risk, death spells, which would instantly kill both the angel and any unauthorized person who tried to take off the collar.

Dean had been studying Enocian, along with Sam. John had even forced him to assist in designing Castiel’s current collar, a fact that Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel was aware of. Dean was pretty confident that he could manage to remove Castiel’s collar without causing undo harm to either one of them, but that was the least of Dean’s concerns.

“Cas, you can’t go running around without a collar,” he said. “Collarless angels are a danger.”

“Do you think I’m dangerous?” asked Castiel. Dean bit his lip. Castiel had a temper, and a tendency to think that he knew better than the humans in charge of him. Dean didn’t think that Castiel would deliberately hurt anyone, but he could see how an accident might happen.

“It would put _you_ in danger,” said Dean, finally. “Collarless angels are executed on sight.” Castiel’s smile widened.

“They’d have to catch me, first,” he said. “And that would be pretty near impossible without a collar to suppress my grace.”

“It’s happened before,” said Dean. Each year there were several news reports of collarless angels that had been discovered and executed.  According to the experts, such angels had been driven mad by having so much power at their disposal, and were a threat, not only to society, but to themselves as well. Dean did not want to see this happen to Castiel.

“I’m willing to take that risk,” said Castiel. “Please, Dean, I’m not meant to serve humans. Living like this, as a slave, will kill me just as surely as a celestial blade would. It would simply be a slower, more painful death.”

“I can’t,” said Dean. “He would know it was me.” Castiel looked confused.

“Oh, I see,” he said, after a moment. “Human familial loyalty. You are devoted to John, and don’t want to disappoint him.”

“It’s not like I agree with everything he does,” said Dean. “It’s just that… he’s my father.”

“And you seek his approval. I understand.” Dean couldn’t make eye contact, couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in the angel’s eyes. He felt as though he’d dashed his friend’s last hope. But to go against John… such a thought had never occurred to Dean.

Maybe the buyer wouldn’t show up in the morning. Even if he did, maybe he wouldn’t want Castiel. Really, who would want an untrainable, rebellious slave? Perhaps Dean could find some other way to buy time to think of a way for Castiel to stay on at the facility.

“Ready to go back?” he asked, deciding to try to pretend that the entire collar conversation had never happened. Castiel had been staring quietly out over the water, and startled a little as Dean broke the silence.

“I do not think that I’m quite strong enough to make it all the way back,” he said. “You go ahead, Dean. You seem cold.”

“No, I’ll sit with you.”

“It’s not necessary,” said Castiel.

“I want to,” said Dean, giving an involuntary shiver. He heard Castiel sigh beside him, and then there was a faint rustle of feathers. Suddenly something huge and soft and warm draped itself around Dean’s shoulders.

It was Castiel’s wing, Dean realized after a beat. The feathers felt even softer than they looked and…Dean turned his head and gave an experimental sniff… they smelled _wonderful_. Like the forest after a rain shower, and fresh cut grass, and something that was just inexplicably Castiel. Dean leaned into Castiel’s side and felt the wing wrap more securely around him.

“Cas,” said Dean, “You’re touching me with your wing.”

“I realize that, Dean. You’re cold.”

“But, last time, you said---“

“I trust you, Dean. We’ve been through much together, you and I, these past seven years.” Dean felt a wave of guilt sweep over him. Leave it to Castiel to do this for him, on the eve of what he might well view as his execution, just minutes after Dean shot down his one hope for freedom. Dean blew out a breath and ran one hand over the glossy flight feathers that hung down over his shoulder. Dean heard Castiel’s sharp inhale and then felt him relax, almost melting into Dean’s side.

“Thanks, Cas,” said Dean. “And we’ll figure this out, don’t worry. I’m sure this guy, this private buyer or whoever, won’t even want you anyway. We’ll just get him out of here, and then I’ll sit down with Dad and try to find a way to make sure you can stay here. I know it’s not perfect, but it’s still a hell of a lot better than being sold, right?” Castiel didn’t answer the question. Instead, he leaned his head against Dean’s, his unruly mess of hair tickling Dean’s ear and said,

“Rest, Dean. It’s very late.”

*******

Dean awoke the next morning to someone shaking his shoulder.

“Wake up, Dean,” said Castiel, urgently. “John is coming.”

“Huh?” said Dean, blearily, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Castiel’s wing disappeared from his shoulder in a split second.

“It’s John. I can hear him coming. You should go before he finds you here.” Before Dean could respond, his father emerged from the path, crashing through the undergrowth.

“What in the hell are you two doing out here?”

“Nothing---“ began Dean, but Castiel cut him off.

“I just wanted to see the creek one last time,” he said. “Dean was trying to convince me to go back, but I wouldn’t listen.” John came to a halt in front of them, breathing hard and shaking his head in disgust.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Dean? You don’t ask and angel to do something, you tell him!” And with that he grabbed Castiel by the collar and turned back toward the house, dragging the angel behind him.

“How did you even get out of the dormitory anyway?” he asked. Dean waited for Castiel to say something about force of will, but eventually realized that John’s pressure on the collar was choking him. Castiel’s face was beet red, and his eyes were streaming.

“Dad!” cried Dean, “He can’t breathe!”

“So?” said John. “It can’t kill him. He’ll be fine.” He set a brisk pace back to the house, Dean jogging to keep up, and Castiel stumbling along behind. As they emerged from the trees, Dean caught sight of a portly, balding man in a pinstriped suit standing in the driveway.

“Good morning, John!” he called as the trio approached. “Is this my angel?” John yanked Castiel around in front of him and shoved him to his knees between himself and the stranger.

“This is the one, Mr. Crowley,” he confirmed. Dean was vaguely aware of the screen door slamming behind him, and Sam calling his name. He was too transfixed by what was going on in front of him to acknowledge his little brother, however.

Crowley stepped forward and looked Castiel over.

“He’s pretty,” he commented. “But scrawny.”

“His line matures late,” said John. “He should reach full size eventually.”

“Well,” said Crowley, “Pretty isn’t necessary for what I have in mind for him, though it doesn’t hurt, but size is important. I can’t have a runty angel.” He leaned forward and cupped Castiel’s chin in one hand. Castiel tried to throw him off, but Crowley only tightened his grip and whispered something in the angel’s ear. He was too far away and too quiet for Dean to be able to hear what he’d said, but Castiel’s reaction told him all he needed to know.

“No!” growled the angel, and leapt to his feet, launching himself at his potential owner. John was ready, and reached out to grab hold of the angel’s collar, halting his momentum.  Castiel struggled like a wild thing, battling to get free. John kept a firm grip on the collar with one hand, using the other to land blows wherever he could in an effort to subdue the slave. Castiel may have been scrawny by the standards of thirteen year old boys, but even with the collar, he still had angel strength, and was putting up a good fight. Sam began to cry at Dean’s side.

“Dad, no!” he sobbed. “You’re hurting Cas!” Dean just managed to grab hold of Sam before he dove in to join the fray, pulling his brother close to him and pinning his arms to his sides. Sam didn’t fight Dean’s restraint, but continued to cry and plead with John to stop beating their friend.

Dean’s eyes met Castiel’s over Sam’s head, and he nearly started to cry himself when he saw the fear and despair in them. There was no animosity, absolutely no sign that he held Dean in any way responsible for his current predicament, but it was clear that whatever Crowley had said to him had shaken him to his core, and prompted this last desperate bid for freedom.

John stopped hitting Castiel with his free hand, and was fishing around in his pocket, the other hand still firmly clamped onto the angel’s collar. He dodged and weaved, neatly avoiding Castiel’s flailing fists and occasional kicks. John smiled grimly as he managed to pull a syringe from his pocket. He flicked the cap of the needle off with his thumb, then plunged the whole thing deep into Castiel’s neck.

Castiel’s mouth fell open in a failed attempt to scream, and for a few seconds nothing happened. Then, gradually, Castiel’s movements became slower and clumsier. Blue eyes fixed on Dean’s once again, for just a moment, before they rolled white and his head lolled against John’s chest. John stepped away from the angel, allowing him to collapse in a crumpled heap in the dirt.

“As you can see,” said John, “The real trouble isn’t his size. It’s his defiance. He’s always been like this. It’s like he came off the line wrong, with a crack in his chassis. I can guarantee he’ll reach satisfactory size, but I don’t know how anyone will ever be able to handle him. I have yet to come across a collar that will control him. The one he’s wearing now is the strongest I’ve ever had to use on an angel of mine and he’s still able to resist.”

“Impressive,” said Crowley. “I need him to be scrappy, so this is actually good.” He walked over to his car and retrieved a pair of handcuffs. From his position, Dean could see that they were engraved in Enochian as well. Crowley crouched next to Castiel and fitted them tightly onto both wrists.

“This should help until my collar guy can work something up,” he said.

“The drug should last for the duration of the journey,” said John. “Don’t take his collar off, though. If the collar is removed, his grace can purge the drug from his system and then you’ll have a full powered angel on your hands.”

Crowley nodded, and together he and John lifted Castiel into the trunk of Crowley’s car. Crowley wrote out a check and handed it to John before climbing into the driver’s seat and roaring away.

Dean’s arms fell away from Sam, who immediately twisted free and ran up to John.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why did you do that to Cas?” John folded the check and tucked it into his pocket.

“Castiel did this to himself,” he said. “I’m just glad that Mr. Crowley got to see what he was getting into before we made the deal. Less chance of him getting returned that way.”

A lump rose in Dean’s throat, making it difficult to swallow. He wholeheartedly regretted not removing Castiel’s collar when the angel had asked him to the previous evening. He understood, now, what Castiel had meant about preferring death to life under whoever wanted to purchase him.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the encouraging comments, and for the kudos and bookmarks. It means a lot!
> 
> Chapter Warning: Heed the tags. Bad things happen to Cas.

__

_Twenty Years Later_

Castiel was floating. He was dimly aware that this was not really the case, that his body was lying prone on a filthy mattress inside a cell in Master’s basement, and that he was exposed in ways he couldn’t bear to contemplate. Castiel preferred floating to this reality.

When Castiel was floating, if he closed his eyes, he could just about convince himself that his wrists were not bound in Enochian engraved handcuffs and attached to a metal rail at the head of the bed; that his collar was not digging into the tender skin of his neck and, far more worrisome, squashing his grace into something that he could barely feel, even on the occasions that Master called upon him to use it.

When Castiel was floating, he could almost imagine away the racing heart rate and fever; symptoms of the blood poisoning that was a result of the needle that had been in Castiel’s arm for months. Master only changed the needle if it became dislodged during punishment. It was easier to imagine away the way his legs were required to be spread at all times so that he would always be ready for Master. It was a simple enough matter to ignore the dried blood and semen that flaked over his skin, so long as Castiel was floating.

When Castiel was floating, he could force himself to not think about his wings. He couldn’t imagine away what had been done to his wings, or ignore the pain the coursed through his body every time he moved a fraction of an inch or even breathed, but he could make himself not think about it. It was easy not to think when he was floating.

The sharp screech of metal upon metal broke through the haze in Castiel’s mind, somewhat, as Master undid the lock and swung the cell door open. Footsteps echoed hollowly on the concrete floor, coming to a halt at the side of the bed that Castiel lay on.

“Rise and shine, angel.” Castiel forced his eyes open at the sound of Master’s voice. He heard the soft clink of Master undoing his belt and the hiss of a zipper. Knowing what was expected of him, Castiel struggled to swing his legs off of the side of the bed and pull himself into a sitting position, attempting to push aside the agonizing burn in his wings as he moved. His wrists remained cuffed, resulting in an uncomfortable, half twisted position, but Castiel was upright enough for Master’s purpose. Or, nearly.

For some reason his head felt heavier than it normally did when he was floating, and though he tried, he couldn’t manage to keep if from flopping down onto the arm that was stretched across his chest. Master curled his hand tightly in Castiel’s hair and yanked.

“Head up,” he said, roughly. “You’ll regret it if I have to say it twice. Now, open.” Master took his hand away, and Castiel obediently opened his mouth even as his head wobbled with the effort of staying upright. The faint rustle of fabric was all the warning Castiel got before Master plopped his flaccid cock inside.

Castiel licked and sucked at the hardening flesh, moving by rote, without thought. Master buried his hands in the angel’s hair, holding him in place. Castiel’s head still felt heavy, and his eyelids began to droop. He was so very tired. From somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind arose the thought that this wasn’t right; that this bone deep fatigue wasn’t a normal effect of the drugs Master dosed him with to keep him pliant, but it was too much for Castiel to hold onto the thought for long, and his head dipped forward as he drifted.

A searing pain in his right wing brought Castiel back to himself, and his eyes flew open. Master dug his fingers into the damaged wing again, this time ripping out several feathers. Castiel uttered a pained whimper, and Master’s cock twitched at the sound.  

“Oh, that’s right,” said Master, “You don’t like it when I touch your wings, do you? You don’t even like that I can see your wings.” Master snapped his hips forward, driving his cock farther down Castiel’s throat and ripping out a handful of feathers from the left wing at the same time. Master’s cock twitched again at the distressed sound that was torn from Castiel’s throat, and he began fucking Castiel’s mouth in earnest.

“Don’t… bloody… fall… asleep… on… the… job,” said Master, matching each word to a thrust. He grabbed handfuls of Castiel’s hair this time, dragging his face forward. It hurt, but not as much as the attack on his wings had. Castiel slackened his jaw and took as much of Master as he could. After so many years, he had no gag reflex to speak of, but the pressure made it difficult to draw breath.

It finally ended when Master came in hot spurts down Castiel’s throat. He pulled away from the angel, grumbling as he rearranged his clothing. Castiel raised his head. Master swam before him, seeming to melt into the floor before rising up again, the pinstripes of his suit bleeding together and the sweat droplets on his face shimmering. Castiel blinked, trying to clear his vision, just as Master’s fist connected with his cheek. The force of the blow knocked Castiel’s head against the metal rail to which the handcuffs were secured.

“Never do that again,” said Master. Castiel swallowed the bile rising in his throat. It took three attempts before he finally managed to right himself. Blood trickled down his forehead and dribbled into his eye.

Master disconnected the plastic tube from the needle in Castiel’s arm and unlocked the handcuffs. A bundle of clothes landed in Castiel’s lap.

“Get dressed,” said Master. “You’re going to earn your keep today.” Castiel looked down at the black garments. He couldn’t quite process what Master had said. He wanted Castiel to do something with the clothes, but… Castiel frowned, the answer eluding him. The pain was distracting, as was the fog in his brain. He tried to shift position slightly. Sitting upright on the bed, such as he was, caused his wings to bend at an unnatural, painful angle. Castiel watched in fascination as his subtle movement caused the soft cotton fabric to slip from his lap and puddle on the floor at his feet.

“Bloody hell,” muttered Master, and then, raising his voice, “Alastair!”

A few moments passed before a tall, slim man with close cropped dark hair descended the basement stairs and joined them in the cell.

“Did you up his dosage without telling me?” asked Master.

“Of course not,” said Alastair.

“Look at him!” said Master, gesturing toward Castiel, who continued to stare bemusedly at the pile of clothing at his feet. “He’s a useless lump!” Alastair strode over to Castiel and roughly pushed his head to one side, exposing his collar. He silently examined the collar and, almost as an afterthought, peered into Castiel’s eyes and took his pulse.

“Well?” said Master, once Alastair released Castiel’s head and stepped back.

“I told you this would happen when I made you this collar,” said Alastair. “The combination of these particular spells and sigils makes for an incredibly strong collar that is impossible for an angel to resist or break through… or, in his case, as near as you’re going to get. However, prolonged exposure results in damage to the grace. It’ll kill him, eventually, if he continues to wear it.”

Castiel was only vaguely aware of Master and Alastair’s conversation. He heard the words that were spoken, but they flowed over him like water, holding just as little meaning.

“If he continues to wear the collar,” scoffed Master. “You say that like I have a choice in the matter.” Alastair shrugged.

“We could always redo the collar so that it has less of an effect on his grace.”

“Because that worked so well the last time you tried that. Do I need to remind you what happened after you assured me that you’d broken him and insisted he’d be fine in a less damaging collar?”

“I admit, that was a mistake---“

“I had to use the damn gun on him! Without the usual precautions! The noise almost brought the police on me.”

“Alright, then,” said Alastair. “If that’s not an option, then we can try decreasing the drugs a bit. With his grace compromised, he won’t need such high doses. You’ll also need to watch your punishments. He’ll be slower to heal.”

“That’s all well and good,” said Master, “But we have a job today.  Am I going to have to worry about him conking out in the middle of it? He can’t even pull on his own trousers for crissakes.”

“You discontinued the drip, right?” said Alastair. “He’ll start to come around in a bit, and when you remove his collar during the smiting, his grace will be able to purge the drugs as it normally does.”

“You just said his grace was damaged!”

“It’s damaged, not dead,” said Alastair. “It’s been compensating for the assault from the collar for nearly twenty years and you’re just now starting to see the effects. He’s still got a year or so of use left in him before his grace burns out completely.”

Alastair picked up the clothing from the floor and pulled the shirt over Castiel’s head, shoving his arms carelessly through the holes and pulling his wings out over the slits in the back. Alastair then got Castiel’s legs situated in the pants before yanking him to his feet and pulling them up the rest of the way.

“There,” he said, stepping away from the swaying angel. “Dressed and ready.”

*******

Castiel slowly became more aware the farther they got from Master’s house. By the time the van eased to a halt at their destination, he felt close to normal. Master nodded his approval when, after he slid the van’s rear door open, Castiel managed to exit the vehicle unassisted and take his position a half a step behind Master on his left side.

Castiel followed Master into office building and through a maze of hallways and elevators until they reached a particular office door. Castiel paid no attention to where they were going or where they’d come from. His purpose was to follow Master, and so Castiel did.

When the door opened, revealing a heavyset man whose red face paled the instant he saw Master, Castiel dropped his eyes to the floor. In earlier years, he would have immediately scanned the room, assessing the targets. Over time, Castiel found it slightly more bearable to look upon the doomed men as little as possible. Their faces would be seared into his memory nonetheless, but there would be less impact.

“Mr. MacLeod, please, I just need more time.” Castiel didn’t know which of the men in the room had spoken, and didn’t really listen to what was said. He stared at the stained, worn carpet under his feet and waited.

“You knew when your debt would come due when you signed the contract,” said Master. “You had plenty of time. Section ‘A’, Clause 13 clearly stated the consequences should you not pay.”

“P-please. My niece---“

“If you think your pathetic attempt to use a child as a human shield will save you, you are sorely mistaken.” Master reached over and removed Castiel’s collar.

The first time Master had ordered Castiel to smite his delinquent clients, Castiel had refused. Master had wrestled Castiel back into his collar, shouted to his employees waiting outside the door, and then forced Castiel to watch as his lackeys disemboweled the two men and tortured them by slicing off appendages and sticking needles into various orifices while they slowly bled out.

The second time Master ordered Castiel to smite his delinquent clients, Castiel had hesitated for a second too long after the removal of his collar and the same thing happened.

The third time, Castiel had leapt forward the instant the leather had fallen from his skin and had burned the souls out of the man and woman in front of him with his grace before anyone could process what was happening. Castiel’s way of smiting wasn’t painless, but it was quick. Especially in comparison to the alternative.

That had been a long time ago. Mercy no longer drove Castiel’s actions. It had become a reflex. Collar off and smite, smite, smite; everyone in the room but Master.

Master removed Castiel’s collar, and he immediately felt his grace, flayed and damaged though it was, rise up and purge the drugs from his system. His wounds from various punishments were healed, as well as the blood infection. Only his wings remained battered and broken… wounds caused by heavenly weapons took longer to heal, and Master made sure that Castiel never had access to his grace long enough for that to happen.

Castiel stepped toward the first man, and was met with a pistol aimed at his heart. Castiel didn’t slow his progress or change course, even as the man began firing and Master dove for cover behind a metal desk. Some of the bullets missed, and ricocheted off of nearby surfaces. The ones that found their mark dropped harmlessly to the floor, the wounds healing faster than the human eye could process. The only bullets that could harm Castiel when he could access his grace came from Master’s special gun.

Castiel placed his palm on the man’s forehead as he continued pulling the trigger, and focused the power of his grace on the man’s soul. The pistol fell to the floor and the man screamed as his soul was burned out of his body, leaving behind a corpse with two smoking craters where his eyes had been.

The next man tried to run, and even without the use of his wings, Castiel was faster. He smote the second man, wincing and he did so. Using his grace _hurt_ like it never had before, and after dealing with the third man, Castiel felt as weak and drained as he normally did while wearing his collar. He turned to the only remaining person in the room save Master, a twelve year old girl who was huddled against the wall, sobbing.    

His body on autopilot, he’d already taken a few steps across the room before it occurred to him that this was a child, an innocent. Castiel hesitated, and his eyes slid over toward Master, who had stepped out from behind the desk.

“The girl, too,” said Master. “We don’t leave witnesses. Get on with it.” At Master’s words, the girl gasped through her sobs and tried to scramble toward the door just a few feet away. She didn’t make it far before she collapsed against the wall again, a pool of blood growing steadily beneath her. One of the ricochets had hit her in the thigh.

Castiel moved toward the girl purposefully. He had his orders and knew what he had to do. He stopped directly in front of her and sank into a crouch, the blood on the floor continuing to spread, soon banking against Castiel’s bare toes.

“No! Please!” she cried out, weakly. The bullet must have hit an artery, Castiel realized. If he waited even a few minutes, smiting her wouldn’t be necessary. He didn’t think that Master would approve of such inaction, and slowly extended his hand. Just before he made contact, Castiel faltered. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t burn the child’s pure, untainted soul from her body, and couldn’t stand by and watch as the life bled out of her.

Castiel took a deep breath, steeling himself, and flared his wings up and out to each side, effectively blocking Master’s view of the girl. It was agony, and Castiel couldn’t stop the pained hiss that escaped through his teeth. The girl shrank away from him and squeezed her eyes shut. Castiel gently brought two fingers to her forehead, focusing his grace on healing instead of destroying. The girl’s vessels, muscle, and flesh knitted together, and her body was refilled with blood.

The effort brought Castiel to his knees. The girl’s eyes opened and she stared at him. Castiel stared back, taking in the clear green of her eyes and the smattering of freckles sprinkled over her face. The sight seemed… familiar, somehow, though Castiel couldn’t fathom how that could be. He couldn’t remember a time that he hadn’t belonged to Master, couldn’t imagine why the sight of green eyes and freckles would make him feel comfortable and at ease. Master’s voice sounded from behind him, jolting him back to reality,

“Angel! What are you doing!” Castiel summoned a small pulse of grace, and the door next to the girl opened. His mouth formed the word, but no sound came out. It had been so long, years, since Castiel had spoken. He wet his lips and tried again.

“Run,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. The girl obeyed, and as soon as she disappeared through the door Castiel called upon his grace to slam it shut and barricade it with several heavy file cabinets and a bookshelf.

The sharp report of a gun only slightly preceded the searing pain in Castiel’s right shoulder, and he felt the Enochian engraved bullet lodge just beneath his collarbone. Less than a second later Master slammed into Castiel’s back and he sprawled face down onto the floor.

“You’re going to regret that, angel,” said Master, ruthlessly digging his knees into the point where Castiel’s wings met his body as he refastened the collar tightly around the angel’s neck. And Castiel thought, with absolute clarity, that though there were many things he regretted about his time with Master, allowing the girl to escape would never be one of them.

******

Master yanked open the door to the basement and booted Castiel down the long flight of stairs. He landed in a heap at the bottom, curling in on himself as he wheezed, struggling to catch his breath. The noise drew Alastair from his lab. He stood over the angel and gave him a sharp poke with the toe of his boot.

“You shot him?” he said, turning his gaze on Master, who was making his leisurely way down the stairs. “His grace is damaged enough as it is---“

“He defied me,” said Master. “I gave him a direct order and he did the exact opposite.” Alastair sighed.

“Fine. Get him into the cell. I’ll get my kit and dig the bullet out.”

“No. It stays in.”

“I know that letting him stew with a bullet in him has been an effective punishment in the past, but with his grace the way it is, he’s not going to be able to take it. It could kill him prematurely.” Master shrugged.

“At this point, it doesn’t bother me. I’m going to have to lay low for a while after this little stunt as it is, so the bullet stays in. I also want you to punish him as usual, and don’t hold back. If he doesn’t survive, so be it. If he does, well, he’ll have plenty of time to recover, since I don’t know when I’ll be able to use him again anyway.”

He turned on his heel to walk away, then seemed to change his mind and aimed a vicious kick to Castiel’s ribs. The angel groaned and spat a mouthful of blood onto the concrete floor. Master looked away in disgust.

“Get him back in the cell. He’s making a mess. And don’t re-start the drip right away. I want him to feel what you’re doing to him.” Alastair nodded and manhandled the semi-conscious angel inside the cell and onto the mattress, carelessly ripping the bloodied clothes from his body and cuffing his hands to the rail at the head of the bed.

“You really never learn, do you, slave?” he said, his voice a drawling murmur right in Castiel’s ear. “It’s a good thing this lesson is one that I enjoy teaching over and over again.” He disappeared and returned a moment later. The sound of clinking metal roused Castiel, and he gave an involuntary tug at his handcuffs, instinctively trying to move away. Alastair had a number of weapons he enjoyed using during Castiel’s punishments, but the chain whip was one of his favorites. Constructed of metal rods joined together by rings, the flexible chain ended with a metal dart, and was one of the most damaging weapons in Alastair’s arsenal.

Castiel automatically attempted to move his wings up and out of the way.

“Ah ah,” said Alastair. “Wings down.” Castiel’s wings trembled as he complied, folding them into position over his back. The strips of cloth tied at various points on the whip made a rushing sound as Alistair lifted the weapon high over his head and brought it down hard over the angel’s wings and back. The dart at the tip ripped through the feathers, flesh, and muscle of Castiel’s wings, striking down to bone at times.

Blood spilled over the dull, black feathers, dripping onto the stained mattress and floor. Castiel uttered a single agonized scream in the beginning, but it faded quickly. The only other sign that the angel was aware of what was happening to him were his stuttered, ragged breaths at every blow.

After a time, Castiel’s wings could no longer maintain their position over Castiel’s back, and fell limply to either side. Strips of flesh had been peeled away, revealing the tendons, bone, and muscle underneath. Feathers littered the floor. Still, Alastair continued to swing the whip, bringing the metal lash down on Castiel’s bare back.

It was only when the damage to Castiel’s back resembled that of his wings that Alastair threw the whip aside. Disoriented though he was from the pain and blood loss, Castiel knew what was coming next and feebly tried to spread his legs, knowing from experience that Alastair would only make it hurt more if he didn’t. 

Punishment always made Alastair hard, and there didn’t seem to be any time at all between the whip crashing to the ground and Alastair driving cruelly into Castiel. As weak as he was, Castiel groaned at the intrusion, his hands clenching at the chains of his cuffs as Alastair continued to pound into him, each thrust more violent than the last. Blood began to trickle down Castiel’s thighs, and he heard Alastair’s pleased grunt above him. Alastair liked making Castiel bleed.

“Apparently this is all you’re good for, angel,” panted Alastair, lips brushing Castiel’s ear, hot and sour breath in Castiel’s face. His hands dug into Castiel’s mutilated wings, wrenching a strangled cry from the angel’s throat. He let the blood flow over his hands, then smeared the blood into Castiel’s hair and over his face, pressing hard against Castiel’s lips until the exhausted angel granted him access. He coated Castiel’s teeth and tongue with the sticky blood from his own wings, huffing out breathless laughs as the angel choked and gagged.

Alastairs hands drifted back to Castiel’s wings, gripping them tightly as he came with one last brutal thrust. He lay flat on Castiel’s back, crushing his wings and pinning him to the mattress as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“Well angel,” came the hated voice in Castiel’s ear, “If you don’t survive this, at least you went out with a bang.” He pulled out and levered himself off of Castiel. He attached the IV line to the catheter in Castiel’s arm and restarted the flow of drugs. Alastair then retrieved the chain whip and strode out of the cell without another glance at the angel.

Castiel lay on the bed, come and blood oozing from between his thighs, and blood from his wings and back soaking into the mattress all around him. He tried to spit out the blood in his mouth, but couldn’t muster up enough strength to do so. The bullet burned inside of him, and his grace felt very far away. His last coherent thought was to wish for it to burn out soon; for it all to be over. Then, Castiel floated.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to those who left kudos and comments! It is incredibly encouraging and I really appreciate it.  
> Apologies for the severe lateness of this chapter... real life got in the way. If any of you out there are still reading, rest assured that from now on, updates will be more frequent.  
> As an apology, here is this ridiculously long chapter!
> 
> P.S. I've been having some formatting issues as I try to upload... so, I'll just apologize for that here, as well. :) Hope you guys don't find it too frustrating to try to read.
> 
> P.P.S. Formatting issues seem to be fixed!

Chapter 2

Dean hefted his travel bag over one shoulder and picked up his keys, his eyes scanning the kitchen. He didn’t think he’d forgotten anything, and the place was spotless, the floors and appliances, gleaming. Perhaps he’d gone a little overboard with the cleaning. It happened around this time every year, a subconscious effort to delay his trip south for as long as possible.

  
Dean turned and walked out of the house, locking the door securely behind him. His gaze automatically slid to the vacant dorms set several yards apart from the main house. They’d been mostly empty for years, ever since John and Mary had retired to Florida. Occasionally, Dean’s work on the Task Force resulted in an angel or two temporarily residing there. The most recent had departed just a few weeks earlier, placed with a new owner not far away.

  
Dean didn’t want to admit it, but he missed the company. Mostly the angels who stayed on the property kept to themselves, but Gabriel had been different. Outgoing and gregarious, the angel had found his way to the main house more evenings than not and had taken great pleasure in raiding Dean’s pantry for anything sweet and unashamedly “borrowing” from his collection of porn.

  
His phone rang, then, and Dean’s smile faded as he saw his father’s name flash across the screen.

  
“Hey, Dad,” he said. “I was just about to call. I’m leaving now.”

  
“A day late,” grumbled John.

  
“I had some stuff to do around the house,” said Dean.

  
“And now you’re going to waste another three days driving here and back.”

  
“Nothing’s worth the risk of flying those steel tubes of death,” said Dean. “Besides, I think you’re underestimating my Baby. We’ll make it in a day each way. Easy.”

  
“Your mother doesn’t like the idea of you driving straight through.”

  
“I can handle it. I’ve done it before.”

  
“You had Sam with you before.” Dean shrugged.

  
“Yeah, well, Sarah’s doctor doesn’t like the idea of her traveling so close to her due date, what with all of the other problems she’s had so far. Besides, Sam’s working a big case. He’s hoping to get as much of it wrapped up as possible before the baby comes.”

  
“I know all of that,” snapped John. “Sam’s doing all right. At least I’ve got one son I can be proud of. Wife, baby on the way, good career. And he’s not involved in any of this angel crap.”

  
Dean rolled his eyes. He was used to this, by now, and smiled at the thought of what John would say if he knew Sam’s actual involvement in this “angel crap.”

  
Of how Sam, in his spare time, crafted Enochian engraved angel collars that looked nearly identical to the official collars that slaves wore, but had just enough subtle alterations to the sigils to render them useless.

  
Of how Sam and Sarah both worked tirelessly with a large network of both humans and angels in an underground effort to free as many slaves as possible.

  
How Sam and Sarah’s own angel, Muriel, who had been given to them as a wedding present from John and Mary, was a slave in appearance only. In reality, she’d been freed… her false collar one of the first that Sam had constructed. And, though she stayed with the family to keep up appearances (it would have been extremely odd for couple such as Sam and Sarah to not have at least one slave) she was well paid for her work.

  
John’s voice interrupted Dean’s musings.

  
“You still have that piece of shit slave staying in my dormitory?”

  
“No,” said Dean, shortly.

  
“Finally did away with him? It was a long time coming.”

  
Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He hated it when his father spoke of murdering angels as though it were no different than discarding a faulty appliance.

  
“He was placed in a new situation,” said Dean. “And his new owner thinks he’s awesome.”

  
It was true. Gabriel’s new owner had recently graduated from college. The purchase of an angel was his parents’ way of celebrating their son’s passage into adulthood… though Gabriel was more of a glorified wingman (a direct quote from Aaron, his new owner) than anything else. Dean wasn’t surprised. He, himself, had gotten closer to Gabriel than he’d been to any other angel since Castiel.

  
“I still can’t believe that everything I worked my whole life to build is going to waste,” said John.

  
“I bought the place from you fair and square,” said Dean.

  
“Yeah, because I didn’t ask for even close to what it was worth,” said John. “I thought you were going to continue the business! You had such great potential as a trainer. But you threw it all away to start that goddamn… what do you call it?”

  
“The Angel Welfare Task Force.”

  
“A damn disgrace.” Dean closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. This same argument seemed to come up every time he tried to talk to his father. Each time, he was tempted to tell him that it was because of John and the way he treated Castiel that the task force even existed.

  
Dean spent most of his first year on the police force shamelessly using department resources to locate Crowley, or any records or bills of sale pertaining to the angel Castiel. All he’d been able to find was the original note transferring ownership of a fledgling named Castiel to the Winchester Angel Training Facility. There hadn’t been any official record of the sale of Castiel to Crowley. There hadn’t been any record of a person named Crowley at all.

  
Each time Dean went out on a call that first year and saw a slave being kept in deplorable conditions and treated worse than most farm animals, he’d felt a pang, thinking that Castiel could be in a similar position. That eventually led to the development of the Angel Welfare Task Force. While Sam’s underground network was able to help a select few angels escape to freedom, Dean’s objective with his task force was to change the way angels were treated as a whole. It was impossible to free all angels from slavery, but Dean did his best to ensure that at least their lives were bearable and that they were treated humanely.

  
Dean’s phone beeped, signaling another call.

  
“Dad, I gotta go. I’ll let you know when I’m an hour out, okay?”

  
“Fine.” Dean picked up the next call.

  
“Detective Winchester?” It was Lilith, Captain Singer’s secretary.

  
“Yeah,” said Dean.

  
“I’m sorry to call during your vacation, but it has to do with that multiple homicide that happened yesterday… I know you weren’t working, but I’m sure you saw the news?”

  
“A little,” said Dean. He’d caught bits and pieces of the story while he’d been procrastinating.

  
“Well, Hendrickson and Lafitte are interviewing a witness right now who is claiming that an angel was responsible. Captain wants you to come right down.”

  
“I’m on my way,” said Dean. He jogged the last few steps to where the Impala sat, freshly washed and shining in the midday sun. As the leader of the task force, he was called in to consult on all cases involving angels.

  
He called John back as the Impala roared to life. As he listened to John ranting about what an ungrateful son he was to disappoint his mother like this, Dean marveled, not for the first time, that his fear of disappointing this man had lead him to fail his best friend. He hung up the phone before John could finish his diatribe. And he sent out a silent apology Castiel, hoping that he was okay, wherever he was.

  
******

  
Victor Hendrickson and Benny Lafitte were on their way out of the station as Dean arrived.

  
“Hey, brother,” said Benny, pausing upon seeing Dean. “You get called in about our case?”

  
“I did,” said Dean. “What’s up?”

  
Benny waved to Victor to go on ahead.

  
“I’ll meet you at the car,” he said, before motioning for Dean to follow him into an empty conference room.

  
“Caught a homicide yesterday that looked like an angel kill. You know, when angels somehow get free of their collars and go crazy, melting people from the inside?”

  
Dean nodded, and Benny continued,

  
“We were gonna try not to bother you during your vacation, so we figured we’d just start out investigating all of the rogue or escaped slaves from your list, and contact you if we found something. But nothing seemed to fit. Then, the witness showed up today with her parents, claiming that she’d been present during the crime.”

  
“With her parents? How old is she?”

  
“Twelve. Her uncle was one of the victims… apparently she had been there visiting for a few days. Anyway, the girl confirmed that it was an angel kill, but that it didn’t seem to be a rogue slave. The angel was following orders.”

  
“How’d she get out?”

  
“You go ahead and talk to her. She’s in Interview Room 3. I don’t know if I’d believe the story if I hadn’t heard if from the girl myself. I’ve never heard of an angel acting that way before. Maybe that’ll help his case when we bring him in, because, as it is, it’s not looking good.”

  
That was an understatement. Angels found guilty of harming humans in any way, for any reason, were always put to death. That was one area that Dean hadn’t been able to affect any kind of change on through his work on the task force. Angels willing to use violence against humans were not to be trusted in society.

  
“Where are you and Victor headed?” asked Dean.

  
“The witness gave us a name. MacLeod. We ran it through the system, and got a hit. Fergus MacLeod. He’s got his hands in all kinds of pots… drug dealing, prostitution, loansharking. He’s actually a suspect in that string of missing persons we’ve been looking into. Slightly sketchy background, history of being down on their luck financially, but suddenly came into some money about a year or so before their disappearances… or in this case, deaths. These disappearances have been going on for years, and no bodies have ever been found. We’re thinking the girl spooked him this time before he could finish the job and he bolted. We’ve got enough for a warrant, and we’re heading to his last known address.”

  
“I should come with,” said Dean, “to deal with the angel.”

  
“If the angel’s there, we’ll call you,” said Benny. “It’s a long shot that we’ll even find the guy. He’s got at least a dozen aliases, and this address is an older one. If he is there, we don’t want to give ourselves away with too many people. Interview the witness, and we’ll keep you updated.”

  
“Alright,” agreed Dean.

  
Benny had a point, and besides, he was pretty interested in talking to this witness. It would help him to formulate a plan for how to proceed once the angel in question had been captured.  
Dean made his way to Interview Room 3 after Benny left. He knocked lightly on the door before entering; smiling slightly when three separate voices bid him come in. He found a young girl seated at the table. Her dirty-blond hair hung loose around her shoulders, and her green eyes, though wary and anxious, sparkled with intelligence. Her parents sat on either side of her, and a red-haired angel stood quietly behind the family.

  
“I’m Detective Winchester,” he said, shaking hands with the family. He nodded a greeting at the angel. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and she gave a quick nod in response. Dean turned to the girl.

  
“I just need to ask you a few questions---“

  
“We’ve been over this with the other detectives,” said her father. “I don’t see why it’s necessary for Julie to relive this trauma again.”

  
“I certainly don’t want to cause Julie any more trauma Mr…”

  
“Pierce. Then why don’t you just talk to your colleagues and let us take our daughter home?”

  
“We’ll get you out of here as soon as possible,” said Dean. “I just need Julie to tell me about the angel.” Mr. Pierce groaned.

  
“I thought I recognized your name. You’re that angel rights nut job.”

  
Dean noticed that the angel standing behind the Pierces stiffened at the phrase. He attempted a reassuring smile, but she looked away. Dean turned back to the family at the table, his smile becoming more forced.

  
“The Task Force actually focuses on welfare rather than rights, but it is true that I oversee all cases involving angels. Now, Julie, when you’re ready---“

  
“I’m ready,” said Julie. Her father started to protest, but she cut him off.

  
“Dad. I want to do this, okay?” She turned to face Dean. “Randy, my uncle, told me that there was a man coming to try and collect money from him. He thought that if I were there, maybe the guy would go easy on him. He didn’t.”

  
“This is the guy called MacLeod? Did he say anything to your uncle?”

  
“Just that he was stupid for using me as a human shield. Then he took the angel’s collar off and hid behind a desk.”

  
“Did he say anything to the angel?”

  
Julie shook her head.

  
“It was like taking off the collar was the command. Before that, the angel just stood there next to MacLeod, looking at the floor. As soon as the collar came off, he walked right over to Randy and… and….” She trailed off.

  
Her mother patted her hand while her father glared daggers at Dean.

  
“It happened really fast,” whispered Julie. “Randy had a gun, and he tried to shoot him, but the angel didn’t even notice. The bullets that hit him didn’t leave any marks, and just fell right out of him. I think that… scared Randy, and he just kept firing the gun, not really aiming. He shot me in the leg, but I’m sure he didn’t mean to.”

  
Julie gestured beneath the table, presumably indicating the limb in question, and continued.

  
“I’d heard of what angels could do to people when they don’t have a master, or aren’t properly controlled, but I never imagined it would be like that. The angel just walked right up to Randy and put his hand on his head like this.” She leaned across the table and lightly rested her palm on the top of Dean’s head. “And Randy screamed, and it looked like his eyes were…”

  
“Burning,” supplied Dean.

  
“Yeah. He did the same to Randy’s friends. I can’t remember their names… I’d never seen them before.”

  
“That’s fine,” said Dean. “You’re doing great.”

  
Julie took a deep breath.

  
“He didn’t look at them at all. The angel. It was like he was looking over their shoulders or at the floor the whole time. After he… finished… he started walking over to me. He stopped before he got too far, and looked over at MacLeod. He didn’t say anything, and MacLeod told him… told him to kill me, too. That they couldn’t leave any witnesses.”

  
“And then what?”

  
“He started walking toward me again. I tried to get away, but I couldn’t move. It hurt so much, and I felt so dizzy… I was trapped. He crouched down in front of me, and for a second he didn’t do anything. He just looked at me… really looked at me, like he hadn’t with Randy or any of the others. And then he opened his wings.”

  
“What?” gasped Dean, forgetting to be professional, “you could see his wings?”

  
Julie nodded.

  
“I think he was trying to hide what he was doing,” she said.

  
“Were his wings visible the whole time?” asked Dean.

  
Julie nodded again. The angel behind her hissed in a breath.

  
“Anna,” warned Mr. Pierce.

  
“Forgive me, Master,” she murmured, dropping her gaze.

  
“It looked like it hurt him to move them,” said Julie. “I didn’t think that angels could feel pain.”

  
“They can’t, honey. Not like we can,” said Mr. Pierce.

  
For an instant Dean met Anna’s gaze. He expected the angel to be angry, but there was only sorrow in her eyes.

  
“That’s partly true,” said Dean, not wanting to further upset Mr. Pierce, but also unable to let the untruth pass without comment. “As you saw with the bullets, many things that would harm us don’t tend to have an effect on angels. But there are special weapons and spells that can and do cause them tremendous pain.”

  
Dean paused, trying to decide if it was worth it to go into issues of an angel being more vulnerable if his or her grace was restricted… and also what it meant for an angel to be forced to manifest his or her wings. Mr. Pierce’s hostile glare decided the matter for him, and he elected to get back on track.

  
“So,” he said to Julie. “What happened after the angel opened his wings?”

  
“I closed my eyes,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “I thought I was going to die, and I kept picturing Randy’s eyes burning. I felt the angel touch me on my forehead, but it was just with two fingers and it felt… good. Warm. The pain went away and I wasn’t dizzy anymore. He healed me, but it seemed like that hurt him, too. When I opened my eyes he kind of fell forward onto his knees. He was still looking at me, though. He stared straight into my eyes.”

  
“Disrespectful,” muttered Mr. Pierce.

  
“He saved your daughter’s life,” said Dean, unable to stop himself.

  
“After he murdered my brother in law and who knows how many others.”

  
“Because he was forced to!” burst out Julie. She turned back to Dean. “I don’t think he wanted to hurt anyone. As soon as he healed me, MacLeod yelled at him, asking what he was doing. He didn’t answer him, but his face… he looked so sad. Then, he made the door open, and he told me to run. As soon as I was through, the door slammed shut, and I could hear furniture moving. I heard another gunshot, and more yelling… and then I was too far away to hear anything.”

  
Dean made some notes on the pad of paper in front of him.

  
“Thank-you, Julie,” he said. “You’ve been very helpful. You can take her home, now,” he said, addressing Mr. and Mrs. Pierce. “We’ll be in contact if we need anything further.”

  
“You better not be,” said Mr. Pierce, rising from his chair. “Julie’s told you everything she knows. We’re done.”

  
Dean didn’t argue. He held the door open for the family on their way out. Julie stopped so suddenly in the doorway that Anna nearly ran into her.

  
“Detective Winchester,” she said, “what’s going to happen to the angel?”

  
“I don’t know,” said Dean.

  
It was a white lie. He was pretty sure he knew what fate awaited the angel, but couldn’t bring himself to tell the girl.

  
“When you find him,” said Julie, “I’d like to thank him.”

  
In his effort to avoid Julie’s gaze, Dean found himself meeting Anna’s. She stood; still and silent, as she waited for her young charge to move forward. Her face was impassive, but she wasn’t able to conceal the knowing look in her eyes. She gave a nearly imperceptible shrug as she became aware of Dean’s attention.

  
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said to Julie, and was grateful that the buzzing of his phone prevented him from having to answer any other questions.

  
“Detective Winchester,” he said, closing the door behind the group as they left.

  
“You’re going to want to get down here,” said Benny.

  
“You found the angel?”

  
“We sure did. And Dean… bring your blade. He’s in rough shape.”

  
******

  
By the time Dean arrived at the address Benny texted him, the place was swarming with police, evidence technicians, and members of the press. Dean groaned as the reporters started moving toward him the instant he stepped out of the car. He made sure that the angel blade was well hidden inside his jacket and started walking briskly in the direction of the mansion.

  
“Detective Winchester, is it true that this angel murdered nearly one hundred humans?”

  
“Will he be executed on the spot, or will there be further investigation?”

  
“Can you confirm the reports that one of the victims was a young girl?”

  
Dean brushed past the reporters, a muttered “no comment” his only response. Benny met him in the foyer.

  
“I don’t know how they get here so fast,” he said. “Not five minutes after we arrived, I swear. Vultures.”

  
“So, what’s the deal, Benny? Where’s the angel? Where are you holding the owner?”

  
Benny shook his head.

  
“Ain’t holding the owner, brother. Flew the coop before we got here. Must’ve gotten tipped off, somehow. I guess he left in a hurry, though. There’s a boatload of evidence here.”

  
“And the angel?”

  
“In the basement. There’s some kind of cell rigged up down there. It’s bad, Dean. You’ve got your blade?”

  
Dean patted his jacket.

  
“It’s right here.”

  
“Good. Someone needs to put the poor bastard out of his misery.”

  
Dean closed his eyes. Angels were amazingly resilient, but there were occasions when they were just too far-gone, be it mentally, physically, or both. Euthanasias were Dean’s least favorite responsibilities as the task force leader, but he understood the necessity.

  
“Alright,” said Dean. “Take me to him.”

  
Benny led the way through a maze of hallways and down a flight of stairs. From the foot of the stairs, Dean could see the iron bars that made up the angel’s cell, though he couldn’t quite see inside. Just beyond the staircase, a narrow corridor opened up into a much larger room.

  
“Someone’s been experimenting,” said Benny.

  
“What do you mean?” asked Dean.

  
Benny inclined his head in the direction of the cell.

  
“On the angel. All kinds of different types of collars in there, plus a whole arsenal of weapons that have been modified. Take a closer look at this one here.”

  
Dean bent over to examine a chain whip that had been bagged near the door. Dried blood flaked off of the sharp barbs at the end of the chain. Something about the way the barbs shone even in the dim light of the basement caught Dean’s attention, and he leaned forward to get a closer look.

  
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, and pulled the angel blade out of his jacket to compare.

  
“You got it,” said Benny. “Looks like he somehow melted down an entire blade and added pieces to most of these weapons. Came across Enochian engraved bullets, too.”

  
“Detective LaFitte?”

  
“In here, Jo,” said Benny, straightening.

  
Jo ducked into the room. Though she was two years out of the academy, she still looked like a teenager. Probably was going to still be getting carded when she was forty.

  
“I found these upstairs,” she said to Benny, handing over a pile of driver’s licenses.

  
“Hey, Dean. You here about the angel?” she said, as Benny examined the licenses.

  
“I am,” said Dean. “This your first big case, Jo?” She nodded, trying not to look too excited.

  
“It’s about time,” she said. “If I’m gonna make detective, I have to start getting out there.”

  
“You’ve got plenty of time,” said Dean.

  
“Easy for you to say,” said Jo. “You were already starting to organize the Task Force your second year.”

  
Dean was about to respond when one of the licenses Benny was holding caught his eye.

  
“What’re those?” he asked, laying a hand on Benny’s arm.

  
“MacLeod’s aliases,” said Benny.

  
He didn’t resist as Dean grabbed the licenses and began shuffling through them until he found the one that had gotten his attention. The name read Rodrick Crowley, and the picture showed a familiar looking portly man with a smarmy smile, wearing a pinstriped suit. He held it up for Benny to see.

  
“This is MacLeod?”

  
“Yessir,” said Benny.

  
Dean’s mouth went dry, and he shoved the licenses back at Benny. It couldn’t be… not after all these years, not right here in Lawrence. Dean turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

  
“Dean!” called Benny.

  
Dean kept walking until he reached the cell. A crowd of people stood at one end of the small space, obscuring his view.

  
“I need to see the angel,” barked Dean, and the other officers obediently moved aside. Dean froze in midstride.

  
The angel lay facedown, naked and unmoving on a filthy mattress supported by a rickety metal bedframe. Enormous wings spread over the edges of the bed on either side, trailing onto the floor. Dull, black feathers littered the concrete, leaving bare patches on the wings. The wings were covered in deep, gaping wounds, and even against the black of the feathers, Dean could see the crusted blood.

  
The mattress the angel lay on was also covered in blood, and as Dean slowly drew closer he could see that the angel’s back was flayed in a manner similar to that of his wings. His wrists were bound with handcuffs upon which were etched Enochian sigils, and the handcuffs were fastened to a metal bar at the head of the bed. His head hung between his raised arms, hiding his face, though a shock of dark, matted hair was visible. A tube connected to a needle in his left arm ran to an empty plastic bag on an IV stand.

  
Dean sank to his knees at the head of the bed and laid the angel blade on the mattress.

  
“Cas?” he said.

  
There was no response, but Dean knew it was him. Knew it by the ebony wings, beautiful even maimed though they were, and by the dark brown hair that somehow managed to be unruly even matted with blood. He knew it by the fact that, even through all of this, Castiel had still managed to find a way to rebel and save a child’s life.

  
Dean turned away, feeling sick. The other officers in the room stared at him, their faces displaying varying degrees of confusion. Dean cleared his throat and said.

  
“You couldn’t have freed his arms at least? Or covered him up?” Victor stepped forward.

  
“We didn’t know what to do with the cuffs,” he said. “And trying to put a blanket or something over all of those whip marks would have been cruel.”

  
Dean sat back on his heels. He knew that Victor was right about covering the wounds being a bad idea, but as he looked upon the ruined wings, he couldn’t help but remember what Castiel had said to him that day by the river.

  
_“It’s just that, they’re the only part of me that’s truly mine. They are the only part of me that I have any real control over and… I want to keep that for myself.”_

  
“He’s a long way gone, Dean,” said Victor. “I doubt he’s even aware of any of this right now. Don’t you think it would be best to just get on with it? Before whatever they were pumping him full of wears off and he starts to actually feel what’s been done to him?”

  
Dean pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Victor. There had to be a key for those handcuffs somewhere in this dump. He made his way back to the room containing all of the weapons and began sorting through the various evidence bags, heedless of the admonitions from the technicians. At last he found a tiny key covered in the same markings at the handcuffs.

  
“Thanks,” he said, saluting the disgruntled technicians.

  
“That’s evidence!” exclaimed Andy, head of the forensics team. Dean grabbed a latex glove and slipped it on his right hand.

  
“I’ll bring it back,” he said. “And you can re-bag it.” Dean ripped open the bag and carefully extracted the key, making sure to only let the gloved hand touch it.

  
“Dean!”

  
“Andy, you know there’s only one way handcuffs like that come off, and it’s with the key. Give me a break.”

  
He walked back into the cell and crouched down once again at the head of the bed. The handcuffs clicked open, and Dean frowned at the sores on the angel’s wrists. He tucked the key into his glove and used his other hand to support Castiel’s arms as he gently lowered him to the mattress. He tossed the glove and key behind him, not bothering to turn around to see who caught it. Blue eyes blinked open, then, clouded by pain and drugs. Dean leaned forward.

  
“Cas! Cas, hey,” he said, resting a hand on Castiel’s forearm. Castiel’s eyes didn’t rise to meet Dean’s, but focused instead on the angel blade lying on the mattress in front of him. Before Dean could begin to explain, Castiel spoke in a quiet, hoarse, whisper,

  
“Please… please, do it.”

  
“No, Cas. No. That’s not going to happen,” said Dean, but Castiel’s eyes had already slid shut.

  
Dean removed his hand from the angel’s forearm and fingered the collar around his neck, studying the sigils and spells. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before, and one glance was enough to tell him that he wouldn’t be able to remove it on his own. He’d need Sam’s help.

  
“Call an ambulance,” said Dean.

  
“Dean, what the hell?” said Victor.

  
Dean whirled around.

  
“Call the damn ambulance!”

  
“Okay,” said Jo, placatingly, holding up her cell phone. “I’m on it.”

  
“Dean, you can’t be serious,” said Victor.

  
“I just need to get him through a few more hours, until my brother can get here,” said Dean.

  
“What are you talking about?” said Victor. “You need to put him down. It’s what he wants, and more important, it’s the law.”

  
“Dean,” said Benny, from where he’d been standing at the cell’s entrance, “Have you met this angel before?”

  
Dean kept his hand on Castiel’s neck, just below his collar, and twisted around so that he could see Benny.

  
“Yeah,” he said. “He was… it’s a long story.”

  
“Alright,” said Benny, his tone gentle. “But that doesn’t change the position we’re in, here. This angel is responsible for multiple human deaths. Even if he weren’t in such bad condition, he would still need to be executed. You know that.”

  
Dean thought fast.

  
“Crowley… or… MacLeod… whatever you want to call him…is still at large,” he said.

  
“Right,” said Benny.

  
“Well, technically, Cas… the angel… is evidence. He’ll be able to give us plenty of information about MacLeod. He may even know where he’s hiding out. MacLeod wouldn’t expect us to keep him alive to question him… he’s probably thinking we’ll execute him on sight. Think about it. This could really help the case.”

  
“Look at him, Dean!” said Victor. “That angel isn’t going to be talking to anybody!”

  
“If I can modify the collar, his grace should be able to heal his injuries. After that, he’ll be able to talk.”

  
Benny looked skeptical.

  
“I dunno. Angels are usually pretty loyal… even the ones that have been mistreated. When’s the last time you remember an angel turning on its owner?”

  
“I… never. But this one will talk. I guarantee it.”

  
Victor walked over to Benny, and the two of them moved out of the cell to speak with each other. Dean looked away. It didn’t matter what either of them thought, really. All decisions regarding angels were Dean’s to make. Only Captain Singer could override him, and in all of Dean’s years as head of the task force, the Captain had never once interfered.

  
Dean focused his attention on Castiel and began peeling the tape away from the needle in the angel’s left arm. The skin around the needle was red and bruised, and Castiel made a pained sound as it was removed. His eyes opened, and for a brief instant rested on Dean’s face before fixating on the angel blade.

  
“Please,” he said again, his voice so weak that Dean had to lean forward to hear.

  
Dean cursed and tucked the blade into his jacket, out of sight. Castiel’s eyes closed.

  
“Please.”

  
“Cas, I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?”

  
Castiel seemed to be unconscious, but Dean kept talking,

  
“I’m gonna take you back home. Remember how much you loved it there? Remember the woods, and the creek? We’ll get that collar off of you, and you’ll heal up, and you’ll be fine. Just fine. You hear me, Cas?”

  
There was no response.

  
Jo approached, clutching her cell phone.

  
“The ambulance will be here in a few minutes,” she said. “Is there anything else you need?”

  
“A sheet?” suggested Dean, not looking up from Castiel’s still form.

  
“Sure,” said Jo.

  
Dean heard her footsteps fading away as she left the cell. It was only a few minutes later that she returned with an expensive looking white sheet.

  
“Thanks,” said Dean, and he carefully draped the sheet over Castiel’s lower half, resisting the urge to cover the wings as well.

  
A siren sounded in the distance, growing louder as the ambulance drew closer. Dean listened as the officers stationed at the door greeted the paramedics and directed them to Castiel’s cell. Dean rose to meet them as they entered. They stood for a moment, staring at Castiel with grim expressions on their faces. Dean recognized Meg, a petite, dark-haired woman with a heart-shaped face. He’d worked with her before, on a few non-angel related cases. He did not recognize the gangly, angular featured man at her side.

  
It was Meg who broke the silence.

  
“Detective Winchester, why, exactly, did you call us?”

  
“I know it’s not protocol, but I was hoping we could make an exception, here. This angel is going to be held as evidence in the case against his owner. He won’t be able to heal his wounds with this collar on, and the design is complex enough that I’m not going to be able to remove it quickly or easily. He’s going to need to be treated medically until the collar comes off.”

  
Meg exchanged a glance with her partner.

  
“It’s not only against protocol,” she said, “It’s against the law. Garth and I aren’t allowed to touch him.”

  
Dean assumed that Garth was the Ichabod Crane wannabe at her side, who was nodding emphatically at Meg’s every word. He took a deep breath and tried again,

  
“Yes, but this is a special situation. I’m head of the Angel Welfare Task Force, and I’ll approve—“

  
“It’s not up to you,” broke in Garth. “It’s forbidden to use any human medical equipment or personnel on slaves. The resources are limited enough as it is.”

  
“Come on, man,” said Dean. “Look at him. You can’t just leave him like that.”

  
Garth’s eyes flickered from Castiel and then back to Dean. His expression remained impassive.

  
“I believe it’s within your power to perform a euthanasia, is it not?”

  
“That’s not an option in this case,” said Dean.

  
“The hell it isn’t!” exploded Victor. “We have plenty of evidence without the angel. We don’t need to hear what he has to say, even if he is ever capable of stringing more than two words together, and we certainly don’t need an angel walking the streets that has already proven willing to kill multiple times!”

  
Benny stepped between Dean and Victor and shot Victor a warning glare before turning to Dean.

  
“Dean,” he said, “The fact that you know this angel is making you too emotionally involved. There’s no shame in it, but you need to recognize what’s happening and take a step back. The angel… Cas, did you call him? Cas is suffering, here. The best thing for him would be a quick death, and if you can’t do that then please, let someone else put him out of his misery.”

  
“Someone like you?” said Dean.

  
Benny shrugged and said,

  
“I’ll do what I have to. Give me the blade.”

  
Dean took a protective step closer to Castiel, shielding him from Benny’s view.

  
“No,” he said. “I’m head of the Task Force, and it’s my call. I’m taking him with me.”

  
Dean’s eyes roamed the room until they found Jo leaning against the doorway and watching the proceedings with interest.

  
“Jo, would you mind pulling my car into the driveway?” he asked, pulling his keys from his pocket and lobbing them in her direction.

  
Jo caught the keys one handed.

  
“The Impala?” she asked, eyes wide.

  
“Yeah, the Impala. It’s parked about a block down the street.”

  
“But you never let—“

  
“Congratulations, Jo, it’s your lucky day. Be careful with her.”

  
Dean hated the thought of anyone else behind the wheel of his Baby, but there was no way in hell he was leaving Castiel alone in the room with people who were so eager to kill him.

  
“Are you sure you’ve thought this through, Dean?” asked Benny. “Captain Singer’s gonna hear about this, and he’s not gonna be happy. This could cost you your position on the Task Force. Hell, it could cost you your job! That’s a mighty big risk to take.”

  
“I owe it to him, Benny,” said Dean.

  
He didn’t want to lose his position on the task force that he’d created and developed, and he absolutely didn’t want to lose the job he loved and had worked at for ten years, but he couldn’t sacrifice Castiel. Not again.

  
Benny placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

  
“It’s just an angel, brother,” he said, softy. “Don’t throw your life away like this.”

  
Dean shrugged Benny’s hand off of him. Meg cleared her throat.

  
“Well, boys, I guess we’ll be leaving,” she said.

  
Garth extended his hand to Dean.

  
“I’m sorry we were unable to assist you,” he said, his face still carefully blank.

  
Dean shook his hand automatically, raising his head as he felt the scratch of paper against his palm. Garth caught his eye and gave a slight nod. Dean curled his hand around the crumpled piece of paper as they broke apart and shoved it into the pocket of his jacket. Garth and Meg left the cell, standing aside to allow Jo to pass on her way back in.

  
“The car’s in the driveway,” she said. “I left it running. And I found some more of those sheets and laid them down on the backseat.”

  
“Thanks, Jo,” said Dean. “I really appreciate it.”

  
“Let me know if there’s more I can do,” said Jo. “This,” she indicated the cell, the room beyond and finally, Castiel himself, “is wrong.”

  
“It’s okay,” said Dean, keeping a wary eye on Victor. “You better get back to work.”

  
Dean turned back to Castiel as Jo left the cell. Moving him was going to be tough. Something would have to be done about the wings. They weren’t going to easily fit into the Impala, and would drag along the ground when Castiel was carried.

  
Dean crept closer and studied the wings. The few brief moments he’d looked upon Castiel’s wings during childhood were clear in his memory, but all of those times Castiel had actually been using his wings, somehow. Dean couldn’t recall ever seeing how he held his wings when he was at rest. He assumed that they would fold over his back in some fashion.

  
Dean cautiously stretched a hand out to the wing closest to him. It felt warm, too warm, and even at the light touch Castiel let out a quiet moan of discomfort, though his eyes never opened. Dean snatched his hand away.

  
“Sorry,” he said. “Hey, um, Cas. Do you think you could fold your wings? We need to get you into Ba—into my car, and your wings won’t fit. Can you do that?”

  
Castiel didn’t move; didn’t seem to have heard Dean at all.

  
“Okay, then,” said Dean. “I’m going to try and help you fold your wing. I--- I’m sorry. I know it hurts and that you don’t… that humans shouldn’t… but I don’t know what else to do.”

  
There was still no response from Castiel, and Dean took several deep breaths to steel himself before reaching for the wing again. He took hold of it just beyond the largest joint, and gently started pushing it up and in toward Castiel’s body. Castiel moaned again, but Dean swallowed hard and forced himself to continue moving the wing. Once he got it past a certain point, he heard a muffled click and the wing automatically folded itself over onto Castiel’s back.

  
Castiel cried out in pain.

  
“I’m sorry!” said Dean. “I’m so sorry, Cas. But we gotta… we gotta do the other one, too.”

  
Dean moved to Castiel’s other side and repeated the process with the second wing. By the time the wing was in place, both Castiel and Dean were covered in sweat, and Castiel was breathing in sharp, shallow, gasps. His eyes remained closed.

  
“Alright, Cas,” said Dean. “That part’s done. I’m sorry, man. I’m going to move you to the car, now, okay?”

  
Before Dean could think of a way to carry the angel, Benny positioned himself at Castiel’s feet and nodded to Dean to move to his head.

  
“What are you doing?” asked Dean.

  
“I’m helping you move him,” he said. “It’ll be easier with two of us.”

  
“Hey, don’t do me any favors.”

  
“I might not agree with what you’re doing, but I don’t want to see him in pain either, Dean,” said Benny. “Now on three. One, two, three.”

  
Dean hooked his arms beneath Castiel’s shoulders, taking care to avoid the whip marks. Benny grasped Castiel’s sheet wrapped lower half, and the two of them made their way out of the cell, up the stairs, and out the front door.

  
Jo had backed the Impala almost the entire way up the driveway. The rear door closest to the house stood open, and Dean could see that the entire backseat had been draped with sheets. Fitting six feet of lanky angel complete with wings into the backseat of the car proved to be difficult, and in the end they managed it only through some creative maneuvering of Castiel’s legs and the long flight feathers of his wings.

  
“Thanks, Benny,” said Dean, trying to ignore the growing crowd of reporters who had gathered in the street, all angling for a view of the Impala.

  
Benny shook his head.

  
“Good luck,” he said.

  
******

  
Dean wasn’t surprised when a string of news vans followed him out of the neighborhood. He drove aimlessly around town until he was sure that he’d shaken all of them, including the few unmarked vehicles trying to be less conspicuous. Dean wasn’t a rookie; he knew how to play the game.

  
Satisfied that he was no longer being followed, Dean pulled into an empty parking lot and put the Impala in park. He twisted in his seat to check on Castiel. Out of the dim basement light, he looked even worse. He was sickly pale, his skin felt clammy to the touch, and he still showed no signs of waking. The lacerations over his wings and shoulders were inflamed and oozing, and Dean was sure that the wounds on his back were in a similar state. The collar had to come off, and fast.

  
Dean pulled out his phone and called Sam, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently as he listened to the ringing. He huffed in frustration when he got Sam’s voicemail. How was he supposed to explain all of this in a phone message?

  
“Sammy, I need you to call me as soon as you get this,” said Dean. “It’s important.” That would have to do. Sam was sure to pick up on the urgency of the situation.

  
Dean leaned back in his seat and tried to think of what to do next. He was fairly certain that it would be safe to take Castiel back to the house. The media vultures seemed to have given up on the chase. But what to do with Castiel once he got him home? Dean shoved his phone into his pocket and felt his fingers brush against the crumpled piece of paper the paramedic had handed to him back in the basement. He pulled it out and flattened it, mildly curious at to what the man had to say.

  
On the top of the paper was scrawled a phone number, followed by the words:

  
_I want to help. Text me the address to where you’re taking him, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. ----Garth Fitzgerald IV_

  
Dean blew out a breath. Huh. Maybe the guy wasn’t such a dick after all. He sent Garth his address. Garth responded in seconds, telling him he would bring some supplies and instructing Dean to try to clean Castiel up as best he could in the meantime.

  
******

  
Dean still hadn’t heard back from Sam by the time he got back to the house. He parked as close to the front door as he possibly could, taking a certain amount of grim satisfaction in imagining John’s outrage at seeing the Impala pulled right up onto the lawn.

  
Castiel hadn’t made a sound during the entire drive. Dean leaned into the backseat; checking to make sure that he was still fairly comfortable, that his wings hadn’t shifted or that he hadn’t fallen onto his back. Castiel looked to be in exactly the same position he’d been placed in at the start of the drive. Dean leaned a little closer and lightly tapped the angel’s cheek.

  
“Hey, Cas,” he said. “We’re here.”

  
His fingers lingered a little longer than they needed to as Dean studied Castiel’s face, looking for even the slightest reaction. Nothing.

  
“I’m going to go get some stuff set up in the house, okay, Cas? It’ll just be a few minutes, and then I’ll take you inside and we’ll get those wounds cleaned up. Sound good?”

  
Dean didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one. He exited the Impala and locked the doors, just in case someone managed to find their way on to the property before he could get back outside.

  
Inside the house, Dean counted out the number of steps it would take to get from the front door to the bathroom upstairs, trying to plan out how he was going to move Castiel. Once in the bathroom, he looked around the small room. He didn’t want to sit Castiel in the bottom of the bathtub, for there didn’t seem to be a position that wouldn’t crush his wings. It took about a minute of puzzling before Dean remembered the wooden stools in his kitchen.

  
He walked back downstairs and into the kitchen, eyeing the stools that had been placed around the high, scrubbed wooden table. He decided it would have to do, and dragged one of the stools upstairs and set it up inside the bathtub. It seemed as though it would be tall enough to keep the wings from hitting the floor, but there was no back to the stool, and Dean was a little worried about Castiel falling off, considering how out of it the angel was.

  
Dean took a seat on the stool and leaned his shoulder onto the tub’s tiled wall. He let himself go as boneless as he possibly could while still remaining conscious, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he was pretty well supported in that position. He abandoned the stool and pulled extra towels and washcloths out of the linen closet before rummaging around in his medicine cabinet and extracting his meager stock of first aid supplies. A pair of Dean’s sleep pants rounded out the collection of items on the counter.

  
After finishing in the bathroom, Dean made his way to the guest bedroom. That was where Sam stayed whenever he came to visit and, thanks to Dean’s recent cleaning binge, everything in the room was freshly laundered. Dean added a few extra sheets and blankets on top of the comforter, figuring that Castiel could lie there while Garth did whatever treatments he had in mind, and then the soiled bedding could just be shifted out from beneath him, to avoid any more movement than was absolutely necessary.

  
At last, satisfied that he had made all of the preparations he could, Dean went back out to the Impala. No one else was in sight. Dean opened the rear door and crouched down at Castiel’s head. After a few unsuccessful attempts to rouse the angel, Dean gave up and slowly began to ease Castiel out of the car. He wound up draping the angel over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, cringing at Castiel’s agonized groan at the movement.

  
“Hang in there, Cas,” said Dean, trying to navigate the stairs as steadily as possible.

  
By the time they reached the bathroom, Dean’s legs were shaking and he was out of breath. He allowed the sheet to fall away from Castiel’s lower body, and carefully placed him on the stool with his head and left shoulder resting against the wall. Dean cautiously removed his hands, watching Castiel like a hawk in case he started to slide off of the stool. When it seemed as though he was managing to stay put, Dean grabbed a plastic bag off of the counter and fastened it around Castiel’s collar. Damaging the sigils on the collar could result in both Dean and Castiel’s death, and Dean wasn’t about to take any chances. And, just as important, Dean didn’t want the leather to irritate Castiel’s skin if it became wet.

  
That accomplished, Dean quickly stripped down to his boxers, dropped his clothing onto the bathroom floor, grabbed the detachable showerhead, and adjusted the water temperature. Castiel’s eyes opened halfway at the first touch of water on his skin, and he made a valiant attempt to lift his head.

  
“It’s okay,” said Dean, and Castiel’s eyes, at last, met his. “Just cleaning you up a little. You’re gonna feel a lot better.”

  
Castiel continued to stare at Dean while the water sluiced the blood and grime from his body. Dean kept up a steady stream of dialogue in an attempt to keep the angel awake.

  
“We’re back home, Cas. This is the place where we first met, do you remember? Man, you scared the shit out of me that day. I was not expecting to find an angel in the bathroom, that’s for sure. I never told you this, but I always felt kinda bad for disturbing you, in the end. You just looked so damn happy.”

  
Dean started at Castiel’s shoulders, moving down over his chest and torso. He averted his eyes as he moved the spray lower, but wound up getting more water on himself than where it needed to go. Deciding to man up and get the job done, he forced himself to look. Any embarrassment he might have felt at the prospect of washing another guy’s junk evaporated at the sight of the livid bruises on Castiel’s hips and thighs.

  
“Dammit,” muttered Dean. He’d been working in the field long enough to know that many angels were used by their masters in that fashion; but he’d hoped, after everything else he’d been through, that Castiel had at least managed to avoid that particular horror. It had been a hope born of denial, for it hadn’t escaped Dean’s notice how the angel had been kept and positioned on that filthy mattress in the basement cell. There was no denying the evidence right in front of him, though.

  
Castiel continued to watch Dean through half closed eyes, his gaze never wavering as Dean directed the spray of water over his legs and, finally, his feet.

  
“Let’s get your hair,” said Dean, and carefully tipped Castiel’s head back to avoid getting soap and water in his eyes. Thus far, Dean had managed to keep the angel’s back and wings fairly dry, but they’d reached the point where Dean couldn’t put it off any longer.

  
“Cas, I’m going to have to clean your wounds, now. The ones on your back and… and your wings. I’ll try to be a quick as possible, okay?”

  
Castiel gave no sign of comprehending a word that Dean said, and after a few seconds, Dean laid his hand on the wing closest to him. Castiel’s eyes opened all the way, then, and he managed to lift a hand and weakly grasp Dean’s wrist.

  
“I’m sorry,” said Dean, for what felt like the thousandth time. He felt like all he’d done the whole day was uselessly apologize to Castiel. For touching his wings. For hurting him. For betraying him.

  
“I’m sorry,” said Dean, again. “But I have to do it.”

  
He broke Castiel’s hold on his wrist easily, and started to unfold the wing. Castiel made a pained sound of protest, but Dean gritted his teeth and continued his task as quickly and efficiently as possible. By the time he’d finished both wings, the entire bathroom floor was sopping wet and littered with stray feathers. The wings were much too large to be contained in the bathtub when extended. Dean had estimated each wing to be eight to nine feet in length.

  
Castiel’s breathing had worsened, but his eyes remained fixed on Dean’s. His wings drooped pathetically off to each side, dripping water and a little blood from some of the worst of the lacerations. Dean grimly moved on to the mess that was Castiel’s back, and it was then that he noticed, just above where the right wing attached to the angel’s body, a circular wound that didn’t match the rest of the lash marks. It looked like a bullet wound.

  
Dean immediately did a quick search of the rest of Castiel’s body, attempting to find the exit wound. There was none. Which meant the bullet was still lodged in there, somewhere. Dean thought back to his brief exam of some of the modified weapons back at the mansion. Remembered Benny saying something about Enochian engraved bullets. He cursed. No wonder Castiel was so weak. Between the wounds on his back and wings, the collar, and the bullet, Dean was amazed that Castiel was even alive.

  
“Just stay with me a little longer,” said Dean, returning Castiel’s stare. “Garth’ll be here soon, and we’ll get that fucking bullet out of you, get you patched up. When Sam gets here, we’ll both sit down and figure out that collar, and we’ll deal with it, and you’ll be as good as new.”

  
Castiel listed forward, and Dean braced him with a hand to his chest.

  
“Come on, Cas. Just a little longer.”

  
Dean didn’t know if Castiel understood… didn’t know if Castiel even recognized him, but the angel’s eyes never left his, and Dean counted that as a win. He finished Castiel’s back as fast as he could one handed, using the other to hold Castiel upright. Once finished, he kicked at the shower knob with his foot until the water shut off and started drying both Castiel and himself off.  
Once Castiel was mostly dry, Dean tossed the sodden towels aside and hauled the angel out of the tub. To his surprise, Castiel seemed to be trying to stand up. Dean curled an arm around his waist, low enough so as to avoid the lash marks, and gingerly draped one of Castiel’s arms over his shoulders. Dean couldn’t bring himself to attempt to fold Castiel’s wings again, and they trailed along the floor as Dean half carried the angel across the hall to the guest room.

  
By the time they arrived, Dean realized he’d forgotten the pajama pants in the bathroom. He maneuvered Castiel until he was sitting on the corner of the bed, checking to make sure that his wings weren’t bent at any odd angles.

  
“I’ll be right back,” said Dean. He crossed the hall in two giant strides, grabbed the pants, and rushed back to the bedroom, hoping that Castiel hadn’t collapsed in the two seconds he’d been alone.

  
Castiel was still mostly upright, though he was swaying slightly. Dean crouched down in front of him and guided both feet into their respective pant legs. He pulled the pants as far up as he could, and said,

  
“Cas, I need you to stand up for a sec so we can get these on the rest of the way.”

  
Of course, Castiel didn’t respond. Dean straightened a bit, leaning forward to rest his hands on Castiel’s upper arms.

  
“I’ll help you,” said Dean, “but you’ve gotta meet me halfway. Then you can lie down, I promise.”

  
Castiel continued to stare at him in bemusement.

  
“Cas. Get up!” said Dean, not realizing how much of his frustration had bled into his tone until the words were ringing in his ears.

  
Castiel’s eyes widened slightly in panic, and he gazed around the room in apparent confusion. Dean felt like kicking himself. Castiel was obviously still too out of it to comprehend, and Dean was about to just pull him to his feet when Castiel raised his eyes to meet Dean’s.

  
“Hey, I didn’t mean—“ began Dean, but was cut off when Castiel’s gaze abruptly dropped to his crotch, and his hands began fumbling with the waistband of Dean’s shower drenched boxers.

  
“Cas, what?”

  
Castiel leaned forward, mouth opening slightly, and a hand suddenly closed around Dean’s dick.

  
“Whoa!” cried Dean, batting Castiel’s hands away. “No! No, Cas, you don’t have to do that. You don’t ever have to do that, okay?”

  
Dean’s pushing away of Castiel’s hands had been enough to overbalance the angel, and Dean caught him before he could slip off the bed.

  
“Cas, you’re not… you’re safe, now. You know where you are, right? This is home. And you know who I am, right, Cas? You know me?”

  
Dean gave Castiel’s shoulders a very gentle shake.

  
“Can you… what’s my name, Cas?”

  
Castiel gazed at him through heavy lidded eyes. Dean could tell he wasn’t going to be conscious much longer, and all of a sudden hearing Castiel say his name… to acknowledge that he had at least a modicum of awareness of where he was… was the most important thing in the world for Dean.

  
“Who am I, Cas? Come on, say my name.”

  
Castiel dropped his gaze.

  
“Master,” he said, softly.

  
******

  
After Castiel passed out, Dean managed to get the sleep pants the rest of the way on, and laid the angel down on his stomach on the bed before fleeing the room. He slammed his bedroom door shut and leaned against it, shaking. Jesus. Castiel had no idea who Dean was. And he’d tried to…

  
Dean shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He shucked off his wet boxers and reached for a fresh pair. Castiel had been drugged, Dean told himself. Who knew what kinds of chemicals they’d been pumping into him over the years, and how long it would remain in his system, not to mention the physical injuries to his body and grace. He just needed time. Once he healed up, he’d be fine.

  
But what if he wasn’t? Dean tried to squash the thought as soon as it flashed through his mind, but the damn thing was resilient. What if Castiel wasn’t Castiel anymore?

  
The doorbell rang. Grateful for the interruption, Dean threw on a pair of jeans and an old AC/DC T-shirt and jogged downstairs to let Garth in.

  
“What are you doing here?” he said, upon seeing Benny standing on the stoop instead of Garth.

  
“Checking in,” said Benny. “Seeing if you need anything.”

  
“I’m good,” said Dean. Benny held up a manila envelope.

  
“And I wanted to give you this. Bastard kept a journal of everything he ever did to the angel, from day one. I made an unofficial copy for you. Thought you should know what he’s been through. Might help you decide where to go from here.”

  
“I’m not giving up on him,” said Dean, taking the envelope.

  
“I’m hoping that, once you read it, you won’t see it so much as giving up, but as providing mercy.”

  
“You can go to hell, Benny,” said Dean, and closed the door.

  
******

  
_Day 1_   
_Subject arrived drugged, and bound with Enochian engraved handcuffs and a moderately powered collar. Upon waking, subject made a considerable amount of noise and began thrashing around in a most unseemly manner, attempting to escape. Subject was not able to be subdued by threats or beating. In an effort to avoid detection by neighbors, subject was, once again, drugged._

  
_Day 2_   
_After the drugs wore off, subject remained uncooperative. Attempted beating again, as weapons development is still in the works. Beating was not effective, nor was the application of an obedience spell. Unable to remove either collar or handcuffs at this time, as the risk of attack or escape is too great. Had to resort to drugging subject once again. Construction of a better, stronger, collar is in the works._

  
_Day 5_   
_Still unable to remove handcuffs. Subject attempted escape and nearly reached the top of the stairs after pretending to be under the influence of the drug and then shoving his way out of the cell. Beatings have had no effect, so went in a different direction today. Subject was fucked anally, repeatedly. The shock of it seemed to briefly subdue subject. Before day’s end, however, subject needed to be drugged._

  
_Day 10_   
_New collar completed and fitted while subject was drugged. Upon waking, subject immediately attempted escape, somehow getting free of handcuffs. Cuffs must not have been properly fastened._

  
_Day 13_   
_Dissatisfied with the level of control provided by new collar. Subject seems to feel discomfort from anal fucking and beatings more acutely, but still remains unacceptably defiant. Used the whip for the first time today, to the point of unconsciousness. Took subject 1 ½ hours to heal. Am considering making modifications to some of the tools. Recently obtained an angel killing blade, and am intrigued at the possibilities. But first must redesign collar._

  
Dean shoved the pages back into the envelope, fighting the urge to gag. All of that within two weeks? And Cas had just been a fledgling, nowhere near maturity. Dean tossed the envelope to the side, and leaned forward in his armchair, gazing at the unmoving angel on the bed in front of him. Dean couldn’t look for long before he had to bury his face in his hands.

  
“I’m going to get you through this, Cas,” he said, the words muffled by his fingers. Not that it mattered. Not that Castiel could hear, or understand him anyway. Still, Dean continued to speak,

  
“And no one is ever going to hurt you like that again. I swear.”

  
The sound of the doorbell floated up the stairs, and Dean heaved himself up to answer it. He was relieved to see Garth standing on the other side, carrying a carton full of medical supplies.

  
“How’s he doing?” asked Garth.

  
“Bad,” said Dean. “I discovered he’s got a bullet in him. Most likely engraved in Enochian, which means it’s working to poison his grace right along with that collar.”

  
“I guess we’d better get started, then,” said Garth.

  
Dean led Garth upstairs and to the guest room, and recounted as much of Castiel’s history as he could while Garth examined the angel. Castiel didn’t react at all to Garth’s gentle poking and prodding, and didn’t respond to any of his murmured questions. Finally, Garth straightened up.

  
“We need to get the bullet out, first,” he said. “And then some of those lacerations will need to be sutured, and the others bandaged. We’ll have to figure out some way of keeping the wings off of his back while everything heals.”

  
Garth dug around in his carton of supplies and extracted a vial of pills.

  
“Antibiotics,” he said. “They’re expired, but not by much. Some of those wounds already look infected. I don’t know when you’re going to be able to remove the collar, and I think it would be a good idea to get at least a couple of does into him until that can happen.”

  
“That makes sense,” said Dean.

  
“Do you think you can get him to swallow these?”

  
“We’ll see.”

  
Dean filled a glass with water in the kitchen and made his way back to the room. Garth had busied himself setting out a few surgical instruments still in their sterilization packets.

  
“They’re squeaky, and the joints stick, and they’re dull as balls,” he said, in response to Dean’s raised eyebrow. “They’d been replaced and were about to be tossed, so I helped myself. Now, let’s see if you can get those pills into him, and we’ll start.”

  
“Do you have anything for pain that you can give him?” asked Dean.

  
Garth shook his head.

  
“Sorry,” he said. “All of that stuff is highly monitored, and I couldn’t find anything expired. Besides, you said they’d been drugging him, right?”

  
“That’s right,” said Dean.

  
“So we really have no idea what he’s on. Based on the timeline, most of it should be out of his system by now, but you never know. I wouldn’t want to make things worse.”

  
Dean didn’t think it got much worse than digging a bullet out of someone with no anesthesia or pain meds or even booze, but he kept that thought to himself as he knelt down at the head of the bed. He tried calling Castiel’s name and lightly shaking him, but nothing got a response. In the end, Dean wound up just easing Castiel up until he was halfway sitting. Castiel’s eyes opened as Dean manhandled him into position.

  
“Hey, Cas, we’re gonna start treating your wounds, now, but first you have to take some medicine.”

  
Castiel swayed forward, and Dean hurriedly jumped up to sit on the bed next to him to help get him stabilized. Castiel’s head lolled onto Dean’s shoulder, and his still damp hair tickled Dean’s chin. Dean shrugged him off and Castiel blinked and actually managed to hold his head up on his own.

  
“Open your mouth,” said Dean, and popped the pills inside when Castiel complied.

  
“Swallow.”

  
Dean tried to ignore the pit that was forming in his stomach upon seeing Castiel obey so mindlessly. This wasn’t Castiel. Not his Castiel. Dean held up the glass of water for the angel to drink. He managed about half a sip before he started coughing, but the pills stayed down. Dean set the water on the nightstand and lowered Castiel back down onto the bed.

  
“Good work,” said Garth. “If you could just stay right there, I’ll need you to hold him down if he starts fighting.”

  
Dean hadn’t realized that, while he’d been feeding pills to Castiel, Garth had gotten everything ready and was standing poised with instruments in each hand.

  
“Alright, Cas,” said Dean. “Garth is going to take out that bullet, now. It’s gonna hurt, but you need to try and keep still, okay?”

  
Castiel’s eyes were open and he was watching Dean. He seemed marginally more lucid. Dean rested his hands on Castiel’s upper arms and nodded for Garth to go ahead. Garth bent to his task, and Castiel’s face screwed up in pain and he screamed. Dean tightened his hold on Castiel’s arms, but Castiel seemed to be trying to keep still. It seemed to go on forever, and eventually Castiel’s cries tapered to pained groans; which, paradoxically, seemed even worse to Dean.

  
“Almost there,” said Garth, and an instant later, “Got it.”

  
Immediately, Castiel’s entire body went limp. He face-planted right onto the mattress, and Dean had to shift his head so that he was turned to the side. He didn’t want the angel to smother after going through all that. Castiel’s eyes were closed and he breathed in quick, shallow, pants.

  
“Whew,” said Garth, holding up the bullet for Dean to see. Even through the blood he could make out the etched sigils.

  
“What’s next?” asked Dean.

  
“Wings, I think,” said Garth. “I’ll suture up the worst of these wounds, and then I’m going to try to bandage the wings so that they’re out of the way of his back.”

  
“Where do you need me?”

  
“You can just stay there. Talk to him, keep him calm.”

  
Dean snorted.

  
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Garth, but he doesn’t give a damn about anything I have to say.”

  
Garth shrugged and eyed the wings, finally settling on a particularly large lash mark on the left wing to start on. No sooner had he touched the wound with a piece of gauze soaked in saline than the wing snapped out, throwing Garth several feet away from the bed. The removal of the bullet had apparently caused Castiel to regain some strength.

  
Dean lunged forward and grabbed Castiel’s arms again, for the angel continued to thrash around on the bed.

  
“No,” he moaned. “No… don’t.”

  
Dean looked over the flailing wings, trying to find Garth. He was relieved when the other man got to his feet, holding a handkerchief to his bloodied nose.

  
“You’re going to have to calm him down,” he said, thickly. “I’m not going to be able to touch him like that.”

  
“Oh, ya think, genius?” said Dean, still trying to subdue the struggling angel. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  
“It looks like you’re restraining. I said, keep him calm.”

  
Dean cursed under his breath. Garth didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. How was he supposed to calm an angel who had no idea where he was, or who he was with, and could barely understand simple sentences? He figured that Castiel would tire himself out soon enough… he was still incredibly weak. They’d just have to wait him out.

  
Dean sighed. He didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to stand over Castiel as he lay there, helpless and exhausted and unable to resist while someone violated the most sensitive part of him.

  
_I trust you, Dean. We’ve been through much together, you and I, these past seven years._

  
Dean closed his eyes at the memory.

  
He sank to his knees, still keeping a hold of Castiel’s arms, but wanting to be at eye level. He ducked his head until he caught Castiel’s wide-eyed, frightened gaze.

  
“Cas,” he found himself saying, “Cas, listen to me. It’s Dean.”

  
Castiel’s struggling slowed, and Dean took advantage of a moment of inaction to take one of the angel’s hands in his. Castiel tried to jerk away, but Dean’s grip remained firm.

  
“No,” said Castiel, again. “Please, don’t… wings.”

  
“Cas, I know you don’t want people touching your wings, okay? I know we’re not even supposed to be able to see them, but… you’re hurt, Cas, and this is the only way to get you better. We have to stitch ‘em up and bandage them before they get worse.”

  
Castiel began to struggle again.

  
“No,” he murmured.

  
Dean tightened his grip on Castiel’s hand, but didn’t try to restrain him in any other way. He continued to stare into the blue eyes, bluer than anything Dean had ever seen before, though they were hazy with confusion and pain.

  
“You said you trusted me, once,” said Dean. “Do you remember that, Cas? I’m Dean. I’m not your master, I’m your friend, and I’m trying to help you.”

  
Castiel stilled.

  
“I’m your friend, Cas. It’s me. It’s Dean.”

  
There seemed to be a flicker of recognition in Castiel’s eyes.

  
“D—Dean?”

  
“That’s right, Cas, I’m Dean.”

  
Castiel stopped trying to pull his hand away from Dean’s and curled his fingers around Dean’s palm instead.

  
“Dean.”

  
“Yup. Okay, Cas, you with me? You gotta let Garth fix up your wings, now. I’m gonna be right here the whole time, and I’m not going to let anything bad happen. You have to hold still, though. No more throwing the guy across the room with your wing.”

  
Castiel’s hand tightened briefly around Dean’s, and Dean nodded to Garth. Garth cautiously approached and began cleaning the wound with saline. At the first touch, Castiel’s entire body shuddered, and his grip on Dean’s hand increased to the point of pain, but that’s as far as it went. The entire time Garth worked, Castiel continued hold Dean’s gaze, though tremors wracked his frame and low moans escaped his lips.

  
“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean kept saying. “You’re doing great. It’ll be over soon.”

  
“That’s it,” said Garth, softly, taping the last piece of gauze in place.

  
Castiel’s eyelids had been drooping for the last quarter of an hour, and at Garth’s pronouncement, he laid his head down on the mattress and allowed his eyes to fall shut. His hand loosened from around Dean’s, but Dean didn’t let go.

  
“You did good, Cas,” he said, smoothing back the angel’s sweat soaked hair form his forehead with his free hand. Though unconscious, Castiel continued to tremble slightly.

  
“I’m going to do his back, now,” said Garth.

  
Dean nodded and sat back, leaning against the wall. He continued to hold onto Castiel’s hand.

  
“I don’t think he’s gonna fight you too much, there,” he said. “He’s pretty out of it.”

  
Dean watched as Garth gathered together some more supplies and got to work.

  
“I was going to leave you with extra bandage supplies, so that you could change the bandages if it took a little longer to get the collar off,” said Garth, ripping open a fresh packet of suture. “But I might just use all of it right here. I’ll have to see if I can scrounge up some more for you.”

  
“Why are you doing this, Garth?”

  
Garth looked up from the wound he was suturing.

  
“What, helping you?” he asked.

  
“Yeah. No one else was really jumping at the chance. And you seemed pretty intent on toeing the party line back there.”

  
“I can’t afford to lose my job,” said Garth. “But that doesn’t mean I agree with the way we’re forced to operate.”

  
He snipped a piece of suture and studied the wounds on Castiel’s back before sighing and choosing another to work on before continuing,

  
“My parents owned an angel when I was a kid. His name was Inias. I wasn’t the most popular kid. I didn’t have a lot of friends. Well, really, I didn’t have any friends except for Inias. His job was to take care of me when my parents weren’t around, which was pretty much all the time. Looking back, I realize how demeaning a job that must have been for someone so powerful… how demeaning everything we force them to do is, really. But Inias never acted like he wanted to do anything other than hang out with me. I taught him to play video games, and he taught me about the plants and animals we’d come across on our walks. It was like… he felt more like family to me that my mom and dad ever did.”

  
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said Dean, thinking of John.

  
“I used to get bullied a lot at school, and one day a group of jocks followed me out to where Inias was waiting to pick me up. I was eleven. They started taunting me with the usual insults, and yelling at Inias about how useless he was as an angel. Because, it’s against the law for an angel to take action against a human, you know? They were throwing rocks and sticks at him, and he just took it, until one of them thought it would be a good idea to start on me and threw a punch. All five of them jumped on me, and I’d been beat up before, but nothing like what they did to me that day. It was like they were daring Inias to do something, and now that I think about it, that was probably exactly what they were doing.”

  
“Jesus,” said Dean.

  
“Inias didn’t just stand by for that. He pulled them off of me, one by one, and touched each one of them on the forehead with two fingers… it made them pass out. He was so gentle, and he lowered them all carefully to the ground once they were unconscious. He was just trying to protect me. The vice principal saw what was happening, though, and ran up to us. He grabbed Inias by the arm, and that caused him to drop the last boy. He hit his head on a rock as he fell, and he died of a brain hemorrhage. The boy’s parents called for blood, and legally, they were within their rights. Inias caused the death of a human. The police came to the house and they executed him right on the front lawn. He told me not to watch but… I didn’t want him to have to die alone, so I stayed. It was….” Garth trailed off and swiped at his eyes with a stray piece of gauze.

  
“I’m sorry, man,” said Dean. “I didn’t realize.”

  
“It’s okay,” said Garth. “But, because of that, I’ve always tried to help out angels where I could. I’ve been following your work on the Task Force, and when I saw you with Castiel in that basement, I was kind of reminded of Inias.”

  
“Cas and I grew up together,” said Dean, allowing his hand to rest on Castiel’s head. “My dad sold him to that dickbag MacLeod when we were thirteen. I’ve been trying to find him ever since.”

  
Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and Dean fumbled it out one handed, and saw Sam’s name come up on the caller ID.

  
“I have to take this,” said Dean, finally dropping Castiel’s hand. “You think you can manage alone with him?”

  
Garth nodded, and Dean ducked out of the room.

  
“Christ, Sammy, what took you so long?” asked Dean, once he’d closed the bedroom door behind him.

  
“Dean? What the hell? Why are you not in Florida?”

  
“That’s why I—“

  
“Never mind. Dean! Sarah’s in labor! I’m going to be a father!”

  
“Holy shit!”

  
“We’ve already been at the hospital for hours. I just now stepped out for a moment because Sarah wanted some time with her sisters. Sorry I didn’t get to your message sooner, but hey, seeing as how you’re not in Florida, want to drive up?”

  
“I wish I could, but I’ve got a situation going down here. It’s why I called. I hate to do this to you now, but Sam, I found Cas.”

  
“Cas… Castiel? You found him? How? Where? Is he alright?”

  
Dean scrubbed a hand down his face.

  
“Crowley turned out to be this guy, MacLeod, who is the suspect in a bunch of disappearances. He was keeping Cas in a cell in his basement, and Cas is pretty fucking far from alright, at the moment. He’s wearing a collar with spells and shit on it that I’ve never seen before, and it’s killing him.”

  
“You need me to come down there.” It was a statement, not a question.

  
“I’m not going to take you away from your wife and kid.”

  
“Dean, if it’s life or death, I can make it. Sarah’ll forgive me for that. She won’t forgive me if I just let an angel die when I could have helped.”

  
“He’s not gonna die tonight. He had an Enochian engraved bullet in him, also, and he seemed to get a little better after we removed that. I think I can manage things here until the baby comes.”

  
“An Enochian engraved bullet,” repeated Sam. “Wow. Did you save it?”

  
Dean chuckled, in spite of the situation.

  
“Yeah, I saved it. You big nerd.”

  
“Are you sure you don’t need me to come down right away?”

  
“I’m sure. Be there for your kid. I’ll call if things start to go south.”

  
“Okay… Dean, they’re calling for me. I have to go. I’ll call with news.”

  
The call disconnected before Dean could say goodbye. He stood there for a minute, staring at his phone. Sam was having a baby. He was going to be an uncle. Dean felt his lips curve into a smile as he pictured himself playing Santa at Christmas and taking the kid to the movies. He was going to be the cool uncle, no doubt about it.

  
Dean sobered as his thoughts returned to Castiel. Putting off the removal of the collar wasn’t ideal, but Dean hoped the baby wouldn’t take too long to arrive. And Sam said he would come if things took a turn for the worst.

  
Dean climbed the stairs and returned to the guest room. Castiel’s back and wings had been neatly stitched and bandaged, with the wings slightly elevated off of the angel’s back. Garth looked up from where he was organizing his remaining supplies as Dean entered.

  
“I think that’s about as much a I can do,” he said.

  
“He looks a ton better than when we started,” said Dean. “Too bad my brother had to delay his trip. I was hoping we could have gotten that collar off tonight.”

  
“What happened?”

  
“He and his wife are having a baby. I’m going to be an uncle!”

  
Garth smiled.

  
“Congratulations.”

  
Dean approached the bed and looked down at Castiel.

  
“Does it seem like he’s trembling more to you? Like, more now than when you were working on his wings, even.”

  
Dean leaned over and brushed his hand against Castiel’s forehead.

  
“And he’s burning up! How expired were those antibiotics?”

  
“I don’t think this is due to infection,” said Garth. “I think he’s going through withdrawal. You mentioned they’d been keeping him drugged for a long time.”

  
“Well, yeah, but, can that even happen to angels?”

  
“The shape he’s in? I’m not surprised. His body seems to be functioning more on a human level than an angelic one.”

  
“What do we do?”

  
Garth shrugged.

  
“Ride it out, I guess, until you can remove the collar. He’ll have a fever, and the tremors that you’re seeing, plus muscle aches and pains. Nausea, abdominal cramping. Diarrhea. You probably don’t have to worry too much about that last one, since I doubt he’s been eating.”

  
Dean doubted it as well. Angels, when healthy, didn’t have to eat. Though some, like Gabriel, seemed to indulge for the enjoyment, Dean was pretty sure Castiel hadn’t been allowed the luxury of food during his captivity.

  
“He’s pretty dehydrated, though, even now,” said Garth. He held up a liquid filled plastic bag. “I could place an IV catheter, and we can give him some fluids, at least.”

  
“Yeah, sure. Do it,” said Dean.

  
“You realize, though, that if his grace is this damaged, he’s most likely going to respond like a human.”

  
“Meaning?”

  
“What goes in is going to come out.”

  
Dean blanched, but recovered.

  
“Fine.”

  
Dean attempted to hold Castiel’s arm steady while Garth placed the catheter. The tremors made things difficult, but Garth proved incredibly adept at hitting a moving target, and soon had gotten the catheter taped in place and the bag of fluids running. He rummaged around in the carton of supplies and handed Dean a plastic bedpan.

  
“If he’s not able to walk,” explained Garth. “Also, try to get him to drink plenty of fluids if he can keep them down. He can have acetaminophen in addition to the antibiotics. That may help with the fever. He can have a lukewarm sponge bath, also… lukewarm, not cold. That might make him more comfortable.”

  
Next, Garth handed Dean an armful of bandage materials.

  
“His bandages should be changed tomorrow. Let me know if there’s a further delay in getting the collar off, and I’ll try to get you more.”

  
“Thanks, Garth,” said Dean. “For everything.”

  
“It was my pleasure,” said Garth.

  
******

  
All too soon, Dean found himself alone with Castiel. He attempted to get the angel to swallow a dose of acetaminophen, but was unsuccessful. Castiel was less responsive than he’d been before, his earlier lucidity having given way to delirium. He was restless, tossing and turning as much as his wings would allow, and muttering unintelligibly.

  
Dean sat with Castiel through the night. He started out in the armchair, but eventually moved to the floor at Castiel’s head, right where he’d been while Garth had been suturing the angel’s wings. Without quite knowing how or why it happened, he found himself once again holding Castiel’s hand.

  
He helped Castiel roll over onto his side and held the trashcan for him while he retched, though nothing came up. Castiel’s eyes blinked open, fever bright, as Dean set the trashcan back down on the floor.

  
“Hey, Cas,” said Dean. He wetted a cloth in the bowl of tepid water at his side, wrung it out, and lightly bathed Castiel’s face, neck, and the bit of his upper torso that he could access. Castiel moaned weakly at the sensation, and his eyes closed.

  
“Sorry.”

  
Dean dropped the cloth back into the water.

  
“What was that, Cas?”

  
“He made me, I—I couldn’t…”

  
“It’s okay,” said Dean, wondering what in the world Castiel was trying to apologize for.

  
“Didn’t… didn’t want to kill…”

  
“I know,” said Dean. “It’s all over, now. We’re going to hunt that bastard down, and you’re going to be fine.”

  
“All those people…” murmured Castiel, flopping back onto his stomach, his limbs still twitching from the tremors.

  
Dean smoothed his hair back.

  
“We’re gonna get through this, Cas. Just trust me, okay?”

 


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

The first thing Castiel became aware of was the pain. It seemed to be everywhere at once… his back, his muscles, and his joints. His head pounded. And his wings. Always, his wings. He shifted slightly and felt an uncomfortable sensation in his lower abdomen. It was different from the pain in the rest of his body. It was more like pressure, and Castiel had never experienced anything like it before.

The second thing Castiel became aware of was that he was, in fact, in a bed. It was a warm, soft, clean bed, as opposed to the stained and dirty mattress he’d been living on for what seemed like forever. There was a pillow beneath his head, and he’d been positioned on his side, instead of flat on his stomach. His hands were unbound, though he could still feel the collar around his neck. He extended both his legs and his arms under the sheet that covered most of him, and found that he could move each limb freely, although he felt the familiar pinch of a needle in his left arm. The slight movement caused the discomfort in his abdomen to increase, and Castiel stilled.

The third thing Castiel became aware of was the presence of a human in the room. A male, though he wore his brown hair longer than Castiel was used to seeing on male humans. He sat slouched in the armchair, his long legs crossed in front of him. He held a stack of papers on top of manila envelope on his lap, and he frowned as he shifted through them.

This man was not the same one as earlier… the one with the green eyes who called himself Dean and told Castiel that he was not his master, but his friend. Friend. It wasn’t a word Castiel often heard, but he thought he knew what it meant. And there had been something familiar about that face… something that had calmed and comforted Castiel, though he couldn’t quite figure out why.

The man in the chair looked up from what he was reading, and smiled when he saw that Castiel was awake.

“It’s good to see you again, Castiel,” he said. Castiel’s lips formed around the alien word, and a ghost of a memory came to him.

“Castiel… that was my name, once. I think.” The man nodded.

“That’s right. I mean, it’s still your name… unless you’d rather be called something else.”

Castiel could only remember being called “angel” or “slave.” But there was something…

“I believe the man yesterday… Dean? He used a shortened version…”

“Cas,” said the man. “Dean and I used to call you Cas. I’m Sam, by the way. Don’t worry if you don’t remember. Dean said you were a little confused.”

“Sam,” repeated Castiel. “W—Where’s Dean?” He found that he didn’t like the idea of Dean not being around, which was odd. Why should the presence of a human matter one way or the other?

“He’s sleeping,” said the man… _Sam_ , Castiel emphasized. His name was Sam. Castiel leaned forward slightly, wincing, as the strange pressure seemed to increase. He began tensing and relaxing various muscles in an attempt to pinpoint the cause of the discomfort.  Sam continued,

“Dean stayed up with you all night. He said you had a pretty rough go of it, for a while. But, good news is, your fever’s down and you seem to be over the worst of the drug withdrawal. Must be that angel metabolism. Anyway, Dean was pretty wrecked by the time I got here, so I chased him out and pretty much forced him to go to bed.”

Drug withdrawal? Castiel looked down at the needle in his arm and then tracked the plastic tube attached to it to the bag of clear liquid hanging from the bedpost. It looked similar to whatever Alastair had always used, but Castiel didn’t feel like he did when he was floating.

Sam followed his gaze.

“It’s just fluids,” he explained. “You were pretty dehydrated. Your body seems to be trying to protect your grace by acting human. Speaking of which, do you need to—“

As he methodically moved from one muscle group to the next, Castiel finally found one that brought relief from the pressure. That relief was accompanied by a warm wetness on his thighs that soaked into the bedding beneath him.

Sam stopped speaking in midsentence and stared at the stain spreading over the sheet. The realization of what had just happened suddenly hit Castiel. He’d urinated. His body had taken excess water, salt, and waste products from the blood, stored it in the bladder, and excreted it. Like a human body would.

Castiel began to shake, frantically trying to sense his grace. He jerked away from the soggy mess beneath him, ripping the needle out of his arm in the process. Blood dripped onto the white sheet, and Castiel automatically summoned a small pulse of grace to deal with the wound. Except it didn’t work. Even with the collar sapping his power, such a superficial wound shouldn’t have required more than a fleeting thought to heal. Castiel tried again, only succeeding in making the throbbing in his head increase. He couldn’t feel his grace at all.

“Here,” said Sam, grabbing a few tissues from the box on the nightstand and pressing them to Castiel’s arm. Castiel shrank away from the unanticipated touch, the movement causing him to press back against the wall. He gasped as the sudden compression of his wings created a new burst of agony.

“Whoa, you’re okay, Cas,” said Sam. He grasped Castiel’s upper arm and gently rotated him away from the wall, easing the weight off of his wings. He let go as soon as Castiel attempted to twist away from him, stepping back and holding his hands in front of him in what appeared to be an attempt to seem nonthreatening.

“Careful,” he cautioned, as Castiel tilted toward the wall again. Castiel managed to catch himself and brace his arms against the bed. He could feel his grace now… a tiny, barely there presence deep within the recesses of his being, but he couldn’t access it. It was useless.

Sam approached the bed again as Castiel’s breathing evened out and he looked up. He plucked several more tissues from the box and offered them to Castiel.

“You should put some pressure on that,” he said, indicating Castiel’s bleeding arm. Castiel accepted the tissues with a shaking hand. Sam turned away and clamped off the bag of fluids before retrieving the needle and draping the tubing over the bedpost and out of the way.

“You probably don’t need it right now, anyway.”

Castiel drew in a long, shuddering breath, feeling heat bloom over his cheeks. Shame, he realized. Something he hadn’t thought himself capable of feeling any longer. Not really for soiling the bed, though he knew that humans did not, as a rule, eliminate where they slept, but for the fact that it had happened at all. That excreting waste was something his body needed to do now, to function.

“It’s okay, Cas,” said Sam. “It happens to everyone. I should have asked if you needed to go sooner.” Castiel squinted in confusion.

“Go? Where?”

“If you needed to urinate,” clarified Sam. “Um… we should probably get you cleaned up. Do you think you can stand?”

Castiel nodded, balling up the bloodied tissues in one hand as he disentangled himself from the sheets and blankets and rolled off of the bed. He staggered, a little, on the way up, but waved away Sam’s offer of assistance. The room spun as he straightened, and he navigated the distance to the bathroom by leaning heavily against the wall. Sam hovered close by, but he didn’t try to help or touch, so Castiel didn’t protest.

Once in the bathroom, Castiel did have to grit his teeth and allow Sam to help him step into the tub, as he just wasn’t able to manage it on his own. Sam stood by as Castiel divested himself of the soaking wet pants and settled himself on the stool.

“Do you, uh, need help?” asked Sam, as he handed a bar of soap to Castiel and detached the showerhead. He tested the water before turning the spray away from Castiel and offering him the apparatus.

“No. Thank-you.” Castiel accepted the showerhead. He was fairly confident that he could handle the mechanics of cleaning his body.

Sam stepped away from the bathtub and rummaged around inside various drawers and cupboards, finally setting out a towel and a tube of toothpaste and toothbrush on the counter.

“I’m going to find you something else to wear. I’ll be right back. Just holler if you need something.” Sam closed the door most of the way behind him, and Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. His skin had started to feel rather irritated, and he lost no time in directing the spray and lathering the soap as he vaguely recalled Dean doing earlier.

He wobbled a bit as he slid off the stool, but managed to steady himself against it before turning the water off. Attempting to return the showerhead to its holder caused him to become even more lightheaded, so he laid it in the bottom of the tub and hoped Sam wouldn’t be too upset.

Sam still hadn’t returned. Unsure if he was supposed to wait or not, Castiel decided to attempt to scale the rim of the tub when gooseflesh broke out over his skin and he started to shiver. His legs gave out when he was nearly there, and he bit back a groan as his wings caught on the edge of the tub as he fell.

He held his breath, sure that Sam would be angry, but it seemed as though the man hadn’t heard anything. Castiel crawled over to the counter and dragged himself back upright. He had to lean against the counter, panting, for a full minute before he could summon the strength to take the towel and dry himself off.

Castiel set the towel aside, frowning as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His face, pale and wan, stared back at him through hollow, red-rimmed eyes. He raised a hand and tentatively touched his fingers to the dark stubble that had grown over his jaw. He couldn’t just think it away. He was losing control of his body. The hair was growing, it was getting dirty, and it was producing waste. A low, squelchy sounding rumble issued from his abdomen, and Castiel pressed a shaking hand to it. Hunger. He licked his dry lips. Thirst. Even through everything he’d endured from Master, he’d never fallen so low.

His eyes fell on his wings, the crisp, white bandages providing a startling contrast to the black of the feathers. How ironic, that this, the most angelic part of him, was obscenely on display for any human to see, but his power, his _essence_ had nearly burned out. He tried to tell himself that he wouldn’t have to endure the indignity for too much longer… that time was running short, but he wasn’t as comforted by the thought as he expected to be.

“Okay, Cas, I found you a new pair of pajama pants. I had to sneak into Dean’s room. I would’ve leant you a pair of mine, but I think they’d be way too big. You and Dean are about the same— Whoa!“ cried Sam as he entered the bathroom and Castiel turned to face him. He thrust the pajama pants at Castiel, blushing.

“You’d better put these on,” he said. Castiel clutched the clothing to his chest, confused, before noticing that Sam was very deliberately not looking at his groin.

“Oh,” he said. “Humans generally cover this area up.”

Sam busied himself hanging up the showerhead.

“Yeah, Cas, they do.”

Castiel pulled the pants on, leaning his hip against the counter to keep his balance. He felt he should apologize for the blunder, and explain that he wasn’t used to taking particular care to cover any part of his body, and that it seemed largely moot, anyway, with his wings out in the open. He remained silent, not having the energy to potentially start something that would anger these new humans.

“Oops, I forgot something. Back in a sec,” said Sam, and he darted out of the room.

Castiel blew out a breath. His hand brushed against the tube of toothpaste, accidentally knocking it into the sink. Castiel retrieved it, studying the container. Perhaps it would help Sam to overlook his mistake with the pants if he showed his proficiency at other tasks. He thought he could recall humans using these products.

The cap on the tube was a little tricky to remove, and it, too, fell into the sink. Castiel set it aside and squeezed a generous amount of the toothpaste into this mouth. He picked up the toothbrush and stuck the bristled end into his mouth, swirling around before using it to scrape at his teeth and tongue. He mouth began to fill with sharp tasting foam.

“Don’t swallow it,” said Sam from the doorway. Castiel squinted at him.

“Spit in the sink,” said Sam, miming expectorating. Castiel did as suggested. His mouth still felt foamy and a little sticky.

“Here,” said Sam, handing him the glass of water he’d been holding. “Take a sip and kind of… swish it around in your mouth. Then, spit it all out.”

“You know,” said Sam, after Castiel had finished, “You’re actually supposed to put the toothpaste on the toothbrush, not right in your mouth. Just so you know for next time. But, nice work, Cas. You did good.” He handed Castiel two pills. “These are your antibiotics. They’ll help to prevent the wounds on your back and wings from getting infected. Put the pills in your mouth, take a sip of water, and then swallow everything.”

Castiel obeyed. The pills didn’t really taste like much, but the water on his tongue was a revelation. Cool and refreshing, it soothed his parched throat and chased away the last of the stickiness form the toothpaste. Castiel drank the entire glass, so eagerly that rivulets of water escaped from his mouth and trailed down the line of his jaw.

Sam smiled.

“Good, right?”

“Yes,” said Castiel.

“You can have some more, but later. If you drink too much too soon, you might get sick.”

“Alright.” Castiel started to move toward the bathroom door. Sam held up a hand to stop him, pulling his phone from his pocket with the other.

“If you don’t mind, Cas, the lighting is so much better in here… if I could just take some pictures of your collar?” Castiel nodded, bracing a hand against the sink and willing his legs not to shake. He didn’t think he’d be able to stand for too much longer, and hoped that Sam would be quick.

“Great, thanks.” Sam circled around Castiel, taking pictures of the collar from every angle.

“I tried to get a quick look at it while you were sleeping,” he said, “but I didn’t want to disturb you. Dean was right. This is the most complex collar I’ve ever seen. Some of these spells… it’s a miracle you’re still walking around. I should be able to figure this out in a day or two, though. Then I’ll be able to remove it.”

Castiel’s hands flew to his collar.

“No!” he said, unable to keep the note of panic out of his voice.

“I promise, it’ll be safe,” said Sam. “I won’t try anything until I’m sure—“

“No,” said Castiel again, his resolve not to anger these humans forgotten. “The collar must stay on.” He swayed and leaned more of his weight against the counter.

“Okay, okay,” said Sam, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “We can talk about it later. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Castiel just managed to clear the bathroom’s doorway before his knees buckled. His shoulder hit the hallway wall, and he managed to control his descent enough that it didn’t hurt too badly when he hit the floor. He twisted his body so that his wings weren’t crushed by the wall, and sighed.

“Cas, please. Let me help you,” said Sam. Castiel shook his head.

“I just need a minute,” he said, closing his eyes. A rustling sound beside him caused them to fly wide open again, and he watched as Sam settled down next to him.

“I’ll just hang out with you until you’re ready, then,” he said.

Sam squirmed around a little, at first, trying to arrange his long legs in a way that was comfortable. A lock of hair flopped into his face, and he blew a breath upwards in frustration, shaking his head at the same time. And Castiel remembered.

_The young boy stretched his arm as far as he could, trying to snake around Castiel’s leg, and reached for the large, yellow colored circle just beyond. His hair fell into his face, and when he shook his head to try and flip it back, he lost his balance and fell._

_“Haha, Sammy! You’re out!” crowed his older brother, a triumphant smile spreading over his lightly freckled face. His green eyes sparkled with glee as they met Castiel’s._

_“It’s just me and Cas, now. Winner gets the last piece of pie!”_

“Cas.”

The memory faded, and Castiel became aware of someone saying his name, over and over again. Sam’s face was an inch from his, his hazel eyes wide and worried.

“Cas? Are you okay?”

“Twister,” muttered Castiel. Sam sat back.

“Twister?”

“It’s a game, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“And we played,” said Castiel, eyes scrunching shut as he chased the memory. “You and I… and Dean. Why?”

“Why… were we playing?” asked Sam. Castiel nodded.

“Because it was fun,” said Sam. “Because we were friends. ‘Course, you would always win, and then Dean would say you cheated… but it was still fun.” Castiel had been friends with humans? That didn’t seem right. But the memory was there.

“Using my own natural abilities wasn’t cheating,” said Castiel, the sounds of Dean’s argument echoing in his head. Sam laughed.

“Yeah, that’s what you always said. And Dean would claim that calling on your grace to make you extra flexible was totally cheating.”

Castiel felt the corners of his lips curve up. Was he smiling? He studied the man in front of him, trying to find a hint of the boy of his memory.

“You grew tall, Sam,” he said. Sam grinned.

“Yup. You should have been there when Dean started to realize that I was getting bigger than him. He was so—“ Sam stopped, dropped his gaze. Castiel realized that he felt guilty… that he was thinking about where exactly Castiel had been at that time. Humans weren’t supposed to feel worry or guilt about angels, and Castiel shifted uncomfortably. He cleared his throat, and when Sam looked up, said,

“It’s been a long time. I would like to hear more about your life, now.” Sam brightened a little, at that.

“Well, I’m a lawyer. And I have a wife, Sarah. We met in art history class, in college, and she’s awesome. We just had a baby, actually. Just last night.” Castiel watched with interest as Sam’s cheeks flushed pink, not with embarrassment, this time, but joy. He fumbled around and pulled his phone from his pocket. He tapped the screen a few times, then turned it so that Castiel could see the picture of a red-faced infant wearing a knitted blue hat.

“His name is Adam. Adam Dean Winchester.”

Castiel looked at the picture in silence, before remembering that humans tended to take a lot of pride in their young, and that compliments were usually expected.

“You have produced a very handsome offspring,” said Castiel. Sam dissolved into laughter.

“Thanks, Cas,” he managed in between gasps.

“What the hell, guys?” Dean emerged from the room next to Castiel’s, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Why are you sitting on the floor in the hallway?”

“Cas got tired on the way back from the bathroom,” said Sam.

“Are you kidding? The bed’s five steps away.”

“He didn’t want—“ said Sam, but Dean cut him off by bending over and taking Castiel’s arm.

“Okay, Cas, up we go,” he said, and Castiel tensed, initially, but then allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Dean wrapped an arm around his waist, well below the whip marks. Castiel wasn’t really able to support himself much at all, and Dean took most of his weight.

“You good, Cas?” asked Dean. Castiel nodded, his head heavy. For some reason, Castiel didn’t feel threatened by Dean’s touch. Leaning against him felt familiar, but Castiel was too exhausted to think much more about it. Dean arranged him on his side on the freshly made bed.

“Get some rest, Cas,” said Dean, straightening. Castiel closed his eyes.

******

Castiel woke to the sound of quiet voices just outside his bedroom door. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. His eyelids still felt weighted down, and he couldn’t quite summon the strength to open them. He focused on the conversation instead, trying to make out what Sam and Dean were saying.

“I should be able to remove the collar by tomorrow or the next day,” said Sam, and Castiel felt a surge of panic. “Cas let me take some pictures of it, so I’ll be able to study the sigils and spells at home. That collar is insane. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What about the wings?” asked Dean. “When you remove the collar, will he be able to hide his wings, or whatever angels do with them?”

“I’ll have to look closer, but I didn’t see anything about wings on the collar. That might have been a separate spell.”

“Shit.”

“I’ll look into it, though. But I have to get going.”

“Yeah, I know. Say hi to Sarah and the kid for me.”

“Sure. Oh, and Dean, one more thing. Cas seemed to get upset when I talked about removing the collar.”

“What, like he was afraid you’d kill him? I can’t say I blame the guy, there’s some scary shit on that collar.”

“No, it was more like he didn’t want the collar removed at all.”

“That’s crazy talk.”

“But, if that’s how he feels—“

“Sam, come on. Dude’s confused. He’s been through a hell of a lot, and all he can remember of us is a friggin’ game of Twister. He just needs a little time. By the time you get back I’m sure he’ll be begging you to take the thing off.”

“Well, I hope so,” said Sam. “Because I’m not sure how much longer he’ll last if he continues to wear it.”

The voices stopped, giving way to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Castiel searched about himself, reaching for his grace to try and figure out how much longer it might last. It would make things a lot easier if it would burn out before Sam got back. _There were fates out there much worse than death,_ thought Castiel as he lost his battle to stay conscious.

******

The need to urinate woke Castiel some time later. He rolled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom in much the same fashion as before, using the walls for support. The toilet was an interesting contraption, but Castiel’s knowledge of how it functioned appeared to be adequate. It was a little bit less of a shock to his system this time around, though he couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness. Of disgrace.

“Cas?” called Dean, as the toilet flushed. Castiel dried his hands and opened the door, leaning on the doorframe.

“Everything okay?” asked Dean as he leapt over the last two stairs to reach the top.

“Yes,” said Castiel.

“Sam left a few hours ago. He’s going to head back home and try and figure out your collar and get to know his kid. I was just setting up some stuff in the kitchen. Thought we could change your bandages, and then grab something to eat. Sound good?” Castiel grimaced.

“Maybe ‘good’ was the wrong word,” said Dean, watching Castiel closely. “How about, I know it’s going to suck, but it has to be done, and I’ve got everything ready downstairs.”

Castiel’s stomach chose that moment to make the same strange rumbling sound that Castiel had heard earlier. Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Settle down, Audrey II,” he said. “We’ll eat after bandages.” Castiel tilted his head, replaying what Dean had said over in his mind. He still didn’t understand.

“I thought my name was Castiel.”

“It is, Cas. It’s… never mind. Let’s go.”

Castiel was winded by the time they reached the kitchen, even with Dean doing most of the work to get them there. He took a seat on one of the high stools that surrounded the wooden table and tried to catch his breath.

“You okay if I start removing the old stuff?” asked Dean. “I’ll do your back first.” Castiel nodded, and concentrated on holding perfectly still as Dean removed the old bandages, cleaned up any wounds that needed it, smeared on antibiotic ointment, and reapplied fresh bandages. The process was uncomfortable, and the wounds were still quite raw and tender, but all Castiel could think of what how much worse it was going to get.  

“Alright,” said Dean. Castiel heard him take a deep breath. “I’m going to start your wings, now. Try not to launch me across the room like you did with Garth, okay?”

Castiel fought the urge to open his wings and shove Dean away. He fought the urge to scream. And, most of all, he fought the urge to flee. He sat, rigid upon the stool, as Dean carefully removed each bandage.

He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his nails into his palms as Dean gently cleaned the wounds. His breathing began to stutter, and Dean’s hands left his wings and rested on his shoulders.

“Almost done, Cas,” he said. “Just a little bit more, okay?”

Castiel managed a jerky nod, trying not to think about Master ripping handfuls of feathers from his wings, of Alastair whipping them, of both Master and Alastair taking turns bending the long flight feathers back until they snapped.

“Please, stop.” Castiel hadn’t meant to say the words; they just slipped out. He was even more shocked when Dean actually listened.

“Need a break?” he asked. Castiel twisted slightly in his chair. Met the earnest green eyes with his own.

“You stopped,” he said, awed.

“Well, yeah,” said Dean. “You asked me to.” Castiel didn’t know how to respond to that. He turned back around, braced his elbows on the table, and buried his head in his hands.

“Please, finish,” he said. Dean picked up a roll of gauze and got back to work.

“Okay,” he said, after an indeterminable amount of time, “done.” Castiel sighed with relief, and shivered, suddenly cold. Dean gave him a quick once over, his eyes lingering on his bare chest. He coughed.

“Should probably get you a shirt,” Dean said, gruffly. “I could cut some slits in the back of one of my T-shirts. Or… maybe there’s something else that could work. Hang tight for a sec, okay?”

Dean disappeared up the stairs again. Castiel remained sitting on the stool, confused as to what Dean meant by “hang tight.”

Dean returned, carrying a clean sheet. He wordlessly approached Castiel and draped it over his upper body, tying it over one shoulder like a toga. The sheet covered most of Castiel’s wings, as well. It wasn’t long enough to cover the entirety of the wings, but the vast majority of the appendages were hidden from view.

“Does it feel all right?” asked Dean. “It’s not too hot, or dragging on the wounds?”

Castiel felt his entire body relax, to the point that Dean grabbed his arm, apparently fearing that he’d slip right off of his seat.

“Thank-you, Dean,” said Castiel. “Thank-you very much.” Dean looked away.

“It’s just a sheet,” he muttered. Castiel disagreed, but he decided not to voice it. He steadied himself on the stool, and Dean let go of his arm.

“I’m going to get us some grub,” he said. Castiel watched as he started rummaging around in the cupboards and drawers. The feeling of familiarity and comfort he got whenever he was near Dean increased, and for the first time, Castiel began to believe that it was possible that he and Dean might actually be friends.

A few minutes later, Dean set a sandwich on a plate in front of Castiel, along with another glass of water.

“Peanut butter and jelly,” said Dean. “You might not remember, but you used to love these.”

Castiel eyed the sandwich, and reached for his water.

“And, yeah,” said Dean. “Stay hydrated.” He turned away and began constructing his own sandwich.

Castiel drank half of his glass of water before gingerly picking up the sandwich and taking a small bite. The combination of the salty peanut butter and the sweet grape jelly exploded on his tongue, and he realized that Dean was right. He knew this taste.

_“Come on, Dean, just one bite,” wheedled Castiel, looking down from the tree branch he was perched on. Dean, flat on his back on the grass directly beneath the tree, took a giant bite of his sandwich and grinned up at Castiel._

_“No way, man,” he said. “This baby’s mine!”_

_“I’ve been told it’s quite rude to eat in front of someone without offering anything,” said Castiel._

_“You’re an angel!” said Dean. “You don’t even have to eat!”_

_Castiel turned his pleading gaze on Dean, and didn’t say a word. Dean rolled his eyes and reached into the paper bag at his side. He withdrew a plastic wrapped sandwich and tossed it high in the air in Castiel’s direction. Castiel caught it easily._

_“You’re worse than Sammy with those puppy eyes, you know that?”_

Castiel barely had time to process the memory before he was assaulted by more, one after the other.

_Castiel, Dean, and Sam, having a water fight in the creek._

_Castiel and Dean, high in a tree, each having staked out a branch where they were content to lounge in silence, listening to the birds and buzz of insects and watching the clouds roll by._

_Sam, wrapped in a giant wool blanket, leaning into Castiel’s side as Castiel read to him on the porch one blustery autumn day._

_Castiel, bringing his wings forth as a ten year old Dean watched, enraptured._

Castiel reached for his water class, accidentally knocking it over.

“Whoops,” said Dean. “Here, I’ll get it.” Castiel was frozen in place.

“Cas?” said Dean. Castiel opened his mouth to tell him that they _were_ friends… that he’d finally remembered, but was stopped by another onslaught of memories.

_Castiel, crumpled in a heap in the bathtub, looking up at Dean and trying to figure out why he wasn’t being punished._

_Castiel, shielding a traumatized Hael with his body as John raged above him._

_John’s fist, slamming into Castiel’s face._

_Dean showing up at the dorms with a sobbing Sam, and the three of them huddling together on Castiel’s matt while John and Mary fight inside the house._

“Dean!” gasped Castiel, looking wildly around the room. “I sh—shouldn’t be here. I must go back to the dorms….”

“Cas, what are you talking about?”

“Where’s John?” Dean’s eyes softened, and he reached for Castiel’s shoulder.

“Oh, no, man, don’t worry. Mom and Dad retired ages ago… they don’t even live in the same state. They’re in Florida.”

_John, telling Castiel he would be sold the next day._

_Castiel, begging Dean to set him free._

_Dean, refusing._

_John, forcing Castiel to his knees in front of Master._

_Master, whispering in Castiel’s ear…_

“No!” cried Castiel. He slid off of the stool, and his hand caught the edge of his plate, sending it and the rest of the sandwich crashing to the floor. Castiel’s chest tightened, and he suddenly found himself unable to breathe.

“Cas!” Dean lunged forward and gripped Castiel by the biceps, shoving him away from the ceramic shards on the floor.

“Jesus, Cas, talk to me,” said Dean. “What’s happening?”

“You sold me,” wheezed Castiel.

“No,” said Dean, “No, it wasn’t—“

“You were there. You—you—you—you—“ Castiel couldn’t seem to get past that word, but Dean seemed to get the idea.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he said, planting himself in front of Castiel, staring into his eyes. “I would give anything to be able to take it all back, to go back and help you when you asked. You have to believe me, Cas.”

“Were… friends,” managed Cas, still unable to catch his breath.

“Yeah, we were friends, Cas. And we still are, if you’ll have me. But… no matter how you feel about that, you have to know that I’m here for you now, okay, Cas? You’re safe, here.”

Castiel at last was able to suck in a lungful of air, and his hands came down on Dean’s forearms, steadying himself.

“I’m gonna get you through this, Cas. Trust me.” Castiel let out a raspy gasp. He thought maybe it was a laugh.

“Trust,” he muttered.

“Please, Cas,” said Dean. Castiel looked away.

“I think I’d like to go back to the bedroom, now,” he said, softly.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note... Enochian is a crazy language. I cannot guarantee that my translations are accurate. In fact, I'm sure that they're not.

Chapter 4

 

“I found the spell that Crowley used to force Cas to manifest his wings!” Dean rolled over and squinted at his bedside alarm clock. 4:43 AM. He groaned.

“Dean? Come on, wake up and listen to me.” There was a slightly manic quality to Sam’s tone that wasn’t normally there. Dean struggled to push himself up into a sitting position without dropping the phone.

“I’m trying,” mumbled Dean. “It’s friggin’ 4 AM.”

“It’s nearly five. I’ve been up all night.”

“You don’t say,” said Dean, drily. “How’re Sarah and Adam?”

“Adam’s great. He hasn’t slept, either. Sarah and I have been alternating research and baby duty. The espresso machine we got for our wedding has been a godsend. Well, for me, anyway. Sarah, of course, can’t partake—“

“Yeah, you sound like you’ve had an espresso or two,” said Dean. “Can’t Muriel help out?”

“We gave Muriel the night off,” said Sam. “She needed some time to herself after…”

“After what?” Sam sighed.

“I asked her about spells that would force an angel to reveal his or her wings. We don’t have a lot of time, here, and I thought maybe Muriel could help point us in the right direction, but… Dean, do you realize what horrific and traumatic thing it is, to compel an angel to do that? I mean, I always knew it was taboo, but when I mentioned it to Muriel she just about had a breakdown.”

“We _own_ them, Sam. We control everything about them, their bodies, and their power. The one part of themselves they’ve managed to protect from us is their wings. That’s the only freedom a slave will ever have. At least, that’s the way Cas explained it to me.”

“He said that to you? So, he’s a little more coherent, now? That’s good.”

“No, this is something he told me back when we were kids and I asked him about his wings. Cas isn’t really talking to me at all, right now.”

“What? Why not?”

“He started remembering a bunch of stuff. Including what happened the day he was sold. How he begged me to help him escape and I… didn’t.”

Sam was silent for a moment.

“Well,” he said, at last, “I guess I can’t really blame him for being pissed.”

“I don’t think he is, exactly,” said Dean. “It’s more like he’s… lost. I think he was finally starting to trust me, and then he remembered. And now he doesn’t think he can.”

“Did you talk to him about removing the collar?”

“No. He hasn’t come out of his room since. He won’t eat, won’t take his meds… I could force him, as weak as he is, but I’m not going to do that to him. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“Well, Dean, I think this is a conversation you need to have with him sooner rather than later. Because I’ve got the counter spell for the wings worked out, and between Sarah and I we’ve managed to figure out most of the collar. There’s just one more sigil that I’m working on, and I should have it all done in a few hours. This collar is incredible, Dean. There was even a spell on it that allowed Cas’s master to remove the collar with just a finger’s worth of pressure on the buckle. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. It was set to only work for him.”

“To make it easier for him to use Cas as his attack dog,” said Dean. “Sadistic son of a bitch.”

“Any progress on tracking him down?”

“I don’t know,” said Dean. “Taking Cas the way I did wasn’t exactly legal, and I’m not the most popular guy on the force right now. I haven’t really been in contact with anyone.”

“You never mentioned that,” said Sam. “Are you going to get in trouble? Like, fired?”

“Reprimanded, at least, I’m sure. Might lose my position on the Task Force, but… it’s Cas, y’ know?”

“I know,” said Sam, softly. Neither one of them spoke for a while. Sam finally broke the silence by saying,

“Well, I’ll probably be totally finished with the collar sometime this morning, and then I’ll head out to your place.”

“Get a little sleep, first, wouldja, Sam? No more espresso.”

******

Dean heard the sound of the toilet flushing and water running soon after he ended the call. He got out of bed and found Castiel paused on his way back to the guest room, breathing heavily and leaning against the wall.

“Need some help, Cas?”

“No thank-you, Dean.” Castiel pushed away from the wall and crossed the narrow hallway with two shaky steps. He hit the doorjamb of the bedroom doorway and used it to prop himself up.

“Okay, then. Um, but there was also something I wanted to talk to you about, if you’ve got a minute.”

“Not right now,” said Castiel, but he lacked the strength to cross the remaining distance to the bed and was thus stuck where he stood, clinging to the doorjamb.

“It won’t take long,” said Dean. “I just wanted to let you know that Sam’ll be here sometime this afternoon to take off your collar. He also figured out a counter spell for your wings.”

The expression that crossed Castiel’s face could only be described as longing. It was fleeting, and soon disappeared as Castiel shook his head.

“You may tell him that it is not necessary for him to make the trip,” he said. Dean’s hands clenched at his sides, but he fought to keep his voice calm.

“Actually, it is,” he said. “You’re gonna die if we don’t remove that collar soon.”

“I’m aware,” said Castiel, leaning more of his weight against the wooden frame. “It won’t be too much longer, I should think.”

“Look, if it’s safety you’re worried about, you can relax. Sam’s good. He’s done this hundreds of times.”

“I’m sure that Sam is competent,” said Castiel. “That’s not the issue.”

“Then what the hell is the issue, Cas? Why are you so eager to let this thing kill you?”

“It is of no import to you, Dean,” said Cas.

“Bullshit. Cas, you’ve been through a lot, I know. You’ve been confused. Maybe your head’s still a little messed up, but I promise you that everything’s going to be better once that collar comes off.”

“The collar is not coming off.” It was a strange contrast to hear so much conviction in such a wasted, weak, voice. But then, Castiel had always been a study in contrasts, hadn’t he?

“I’m not going to stand by and watch you kill yourself,” said Dean. “That is absolutely not going to happen. The collar’s coming off when Sam get’s here. End of discussion.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“And who are you to make that call? You’ve been saying all along that you are my friend, not my master.”

“I just want what’s best for you, Cas.”

“Just like you wanted what was best for me when you refused to remove my collar the first time I asked? And now, you are insisting that my collar be removed when I do not wish it to be. I may not have much experience in this area, but that doesn’t seem like friendship to me.”

Castiel heaved himself upright and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door in Dean’s face.

******

There was absolutely no way that Dean was going to get back to sleep after that conversation. Instead, he found himself in the kitchen, peeling and slicing apples. Baking always seemed to help Dean think. And eating pie was guaranteed to make him happy, no matter what.

Castiel was wrong. He had to be. He’d made Dean sound no better than any other slave owner… forcing his own agenda on “his” property. That wasn’t what he was doing, was it?

Dean dropped curl of apple peel into his mouth and frowned. It certainly hadn’t been his intention, but he was starting to see how it could appear that way to Castiel. Dean didn’t want to have to force him to remove the collar. But he didn’t think he had it in him to watch Castiel kill himself either. What he wanted was to be able to convince Castiel to _want_ to take off the collar. Which was hard to do when Castiel refused to even tell him why he didn’t want it off in the first place.

He had to find some way to convince Castiel to talk to him, which he was utterly unwilling to do at this point. Dean brainstormed as he rolled piecrust, mixed, and seasoned. He slumped onto one of the high stools in defeat when a plan failed to materialize by the time he shoved the pie into the oven to bake.

In the end, the only way he could come up with to prove his friendship to Castiel was to show him. To actually be his friend instead of just talking about it. And that meant respecting Castiel’s choices, even if Dean didn’t agree with them. It meant attempting to find a solution to a problem together, instead of Dean trying to bully Castiel into doing it his way.

The only problem with that approach was that it would take time. Time that Castiel didn’t have.

******

The sun had long since risen by the time Dean knocked on Castiel’s door. The pie had cooled and there were two slices plated and waiting on a little round table out on the porch. Dean had scrounged up an old lounger chair from the garage that his parents had elected not to take with them to Florida. After cleaning away the dust and cobwebs, Dean had covered the chair in layers of soft blankets, and added a pillow. Everything was ready.

When Castiel didn’t respond to the first knock, Dean knocked again, softly calling Castiel’s name.

“What is it, Dean?” replied Castiel, exhaustion evident in his voice.

“I thought maybe you’d like to come outside for a little while,” said Dean.

“No, thank-you.”

“I’m not going to try to make you do anything, I promise. I just… I was thinking about what you said earlier, and I realized you were right. I’ve been acting like a dick, like some asshole owner, and I want to try to make it up to you. If you insist on keeping the collar on, well, that’s your decision, but do you really want to spend your last few days locked up in that room?”

“I know you used to love being outside, and it’s a beautiful day. I’ve got a place all set up for you on the porch, and you can just hang out there and enjoy the view. How’s that sound?”

Castiel didn’t say anything, but Dean heard the bedsprings squeak as he rolled out of bed. Shuffling footsteps sounded as the angel made his way to the door. Dean stepped back as the door swung open, revealing Castiel leaning heavily on the frame, the toga-sheet Dean had fitted him with the previous day still wrapped around his wings and chest.

“I think I would like to be outside, for a bit,” he said, his eyes downcast. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s _no_ trouble, Cas,” said Dean. “None at all.” He helped Castiel down the stairs, through the kitchen and living room, and finally out the front door. They stood on the porch for a moment as Castiel took several deep breaths, breathing in the sweet spring air, eyes closed and a tiny smile playing on his lips. Dean noticed that his wings twitched beneath the sheet, as if Castiel instinctively wanted to spread them and fly. Dean wanted to assure him that he would be able to do so one day, but knew that such a statement would be counter productive to his plan, and resisted the urge.

“We’ll just sit you down right over here, Cas,” he said, instead, leading the angel over to the lounger. It didn’t have any armrests, and when Castiel situated himself on his side, there was ample room for the wings to droop down over the edge.

“You can adjust this top part here, with this lever,” said Dean, pointing. “You can either sit straight up, or lie down flat, or do anything in between. But I think you’ll want to be sitting up for this next part.”

Dean adjusted the back of the chair until it was straight up. Castiel leaned his shoulder against it to prop himself up.

“The next part?” he asked.

“Breakfast,” said Dean.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Castiel. Dean moved the small table in front of Castiel.

“Pie is always necessary,” said Dean. “I made it this morning. It’s apple, just like Mom used to make.”

Dean sat down in the wooden deck chair on the other side of the table and balanced his plate of pie on his lap. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Castiel watching him. Dean scooped up a triangle of pie and forked it into his mouth, moaning in pleasure.

“It’s damn good, Cas, if I do say so myself,” he said, after he’d swallowed. Castiel picked up his fork and ate a small bite. Dean smiled as the angel’s eyes widened, and he went for another, larger, forkful.

“Well? How is it?” asked Dean.

“This pie makes me… very happy,” Castiel mumbled around the large bite he’d just taken, his smile growing. Dean laughed.

“I knew it,” he said.

Despite Castiel’s obvious enthusiasm, he only managed to eat about two thirds of his slice.

“I’m sorry,” he said mournfully, looking down at the remains of his piece of pie. “It’s wonderful, but… I just can’t manage any more.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cas,” Dean replied. He gathered the plates and forks. “We can save it for later.”

Dean deposited the dishes in the sink and put the rest of the pie in the refrigerator after wrapping it up. Returning to the porch, he found that Castiel had lowered the back of his chair to about a 45 degree angle and was curled up on his side, his eyes focused on a honey bee that had landed on one of the tulips in the garden. A light breeze ruffled his hair, and he gave a little shiver.

“Cold?” asked Dean.

“A little.” Dean reached behind the chair and picked up one of the extra blankets he’d brought out, just in case. He shook it out and laid it over Castiel.

“Thank-you, Dean,” said Castiel.

“Don’t mention it,” said Dean, reclaiming his chair. He settled back and watched the bee crawl around the flower petals before finally taking off again, buzzing in lazy circles until it disappeared from sight.

“They are magnificent, aren’t they?” said Castiel.

“Bees?

“Yes, bees. Did you know that bees visualize human faces the same way you or I would? They have the ability to create a whole picture by piecing together each feature. They can actually recognize individual faces.”

“That’s… that’s pretty awesome, Cas,” said Dean. Castiel looked away from the flowers, his eyes finding Dean’s.

“I recognized you,” said Castiel. “When you pulled me out of there. I didn’t know why, or from where, but I knew your face. It was a comfort to me, during everything that followed. Even if I didn’t know exactly why.”

Dean scooted his chair a little closer to Castiel’s.

“Cas, I want to apologize for what happened that day. For not helping you escape when you asked me to. I’m not asking you to forgive me, because that’s gotta be pretty much impossible, at this point, but I do want you to know that I regret not helping you.”

Castiel looked down, his fingers tracing patterns over the worn blanket.

“The first thing Alastair said to me—“

“Who’s Alastair?”

“Alastair was Master’s partner.”

“Crowley had a partner?” Castiel nodded.

“Alastair was the one who designed my collars. He was in charge of my training and he administered my punishments when Master couldn’t be bothered to.”

“Don’t call him that, Cas. He’s not your master anymore. He never deserved to be. Call him Crowley, or MacLeod, or fucking dickbag. Anything you want.”

“Very well,” said Castiel. He took a deep breath and continued, “The first thing Alastair said to me when I woke up in that cell was ‘Welcome to hell.’ And then he told me that I should forget everything I’d ever known before, because none of it had any relevance to my existence from that point on. I resisted. I fought. The two of them, Alastair and that… assbutt... did terrible things…”

“I know,” said Dean. “Bastard kept a journal of everything he ever did to you.”

Castiel briefly closed his eyes.

“Ah. Yes, well… then you know. You know that I… that it got to be too much and I… broke. The more that happened… the more things I did… the easier it became to forget. To let go.”

“Cas, you don’t have to—“

“Please, Dean. Let me finish.”

Dean stopped talking and sat back in his seat.

“After I woke up, clearheaded for the first time in a long time, I started to remember you and your brother. Just bits and pieces at first, but last night in the kitchen… it all just hit me at once, and it was a shock. I know it must have seemed as though I held you responsible for what happened, but I don’t, Dean. You were just a child, and I’m aware of the loyalties that humans have toward parental figures. It was wrong of me to have even asked such a thing.”

Castiel reached out a hand from under his blanket and rested it lightly upon Dean’s clasped hands.

“I will not tell you that you are forgiven,” he said, “Because you’ve done nothing that would require you to seek forgiveness.”

Dean opened his mouth, but found himself unable to force out words over the lump in this throat. Stupid angel had every right to be angry with Dean… to hate him. Instead, here he was using the last of his strength to try to make Dean feel better. This was Castiel all over… the Castiel that Dean remembered. Too many times over the last few days Dean had wondered if that Castiel was even still in existence. Looking into the solemn blue eyes staring into his with an intensity that belied the weakness of the angel’s body, Dean found his answer.

“Cas,” he began, then paused. Everything he wanted to say had to do with him wanting to get that collar removed and, by association, not wanting Castiel to die. Progress had been made, but Dean didn’t want to ruin it by coming on too strong.

“I’m just so glad you’re back.”

Castiel’s hand fell away from Dean’s, and Dean saw that Castiel’s eyes were staying closed longer and longer between blinks. He’d let him sleep, for now, but there was one more thing he wanted say.

“You know this is home, right, Cas? For however long you’re here, this is your home, and you will always be safe here.”

“Mmmmm,” murmured Castiel, snuggling down into his pillow. His eyes remained closed, and his breathing was slow and even. Dean watched as Castiel slipped deeper into sleep, the tension slowly bleeding out of his limbs. He nearly jumped out of his skin when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Dean grabbed the phone and glared at the screen. The number was not one that he recognized.

“Detective Winchester,” he answered, keeping one eye on Castiel to make sure he didn’t disturb him.

“Detective, this is Nora Pierce. You interviewed my daughter, Julie, two days ago?” The voice was quiet and timid, so much so that Dean had to turn up the volume on his phone to hear her properly.

“I remember,” said Dean. “How’s Julie doing?”

“That’s why I’m calling. We heard on the news that you found the angel. Is that true?”

“Yes,” said Dean, carefully.

“And, is it also true that the angel hasn’t been… dealt with, yet?”

“The angel is still alive, Mrs. Pierce, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Julie was asking. She’s been extremely upset ever since all of this happened.”

“That’s understandable,” said Dean.

“She’s convinced herself that she needs to see this angel, to thank him for saving her. I’ve been telling her that it would be impossible, and that it’s not the kind of thing that one does, anyway, but she won’t let it go. I’ve been thinking that, maybe if she’s allowed to do this, it will give her some closure and she can start moving on with her life.”

“Your husband’s okay with this?” said Dean, is attention still partly focused on Castiel. The angel slept on, oblivious.

“My husband is out of town on business,” said Nora, her voice losing some of its timidity and becoming crisper. “This doesn’t concern him.”

That was just perfect. The last thing Dean needed was to get in the middle of this family’s drama. And yet… Dean was struck by the idea that somehow a meeting between Julie and Castiel would be good for both of them.

“I think we could probably work something out,” Dean found himself saying.

“Would it be too much trouble to do this today? My husband cannot find out what we’re doing, and he’ll be back tomorrow.”

Dean was about to protest, but then reconsidered. Unless Castiel could be convinced to allow them to remove his collar, Dean very much doubted that the angel would last long enough to schedule another visit.

“That should be fine,” said Dean, slowly. “But I’ll warn you that Castiel… the angel… isn’t in great shape. The injuries he sustained during his captivity are life threatening, and he’s very weak. It can’t be a long visit.”

“It won’t be,” Nora assured him. “I would rather Julie spend as little time in his presence as possible. Randy had problems, and I’ll never forgive him for using Julie the way he did, but he was still my brother. It wouldn’t be prudent to have Julie getting too friendly with his killer. Saving one life doesn’t cancel out the taking of others, especially when it’s an angel doing the killing. Frankly, I was surprised that he wasn’t put down on the spot.”

“Well, we have our reasons for that,” said Dean. “But you can rest assured that no one is in any danger.”

Nora seemed satisfied with that. Dean gave her his address, and she hung up without saying goodbye. Dean tucked his phone back into his pocket and looked over at Castiel. He contemplated waking him to let him know about their impending visitors, but even with his features still pinched in pain, he looked content enough that Dean elected to let him sleep a little while longer.

Dean frowned, noticing the twin spots of color dotting Castiel’s otherwise pale cheeks. He brushed Castiel’s hair back and laid a hand on his forehead. Damn. His fever was back. Dean wondered if it was some grace related thing, or Castiel’s wounds were becoming infected. Dean allowed his hand to move off of Castiel’s forehead, though it lingered on the angels skin, lightly dragging over his high cheekbones and the firm line of his jaw. The stubble darkening Castiel’s jaw seemed to be well on its way to becoming a beard, and was softer to the touch than Dean had expected.

The instant Dean realized he was fondling another dude’s beard he jerked his hand back as though Castiel had burned him. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never been even remotely attracted to angels in the past… he wasn’t one of those jackasses who took advantage of them that way. And he certainly had never been prone to that kind of sappy face stroking with his human partners, whether they were men or women.

His phone chose that moment to buzz again, and Dean reached for it, grateful for the distraction. This time, he recognized the number.

“Hey, Bobby,” he greeted the Captain. Bobby had taken Dean under his wing from the moment Dean joined the force, and had always been supportive of Dean’s work on the Task Force. Over the years, Bobby and his wife, Ellen, had become like a surrogate family to Dean.

“That’s Captain Singer to you, boy. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Except when Bobby was pissed. Then, everyone was fair game, family be damned. Dean forced a laugh, trying to ease the tension and turned his back on Castiel, moving several steps away for good measure.

“All right, just let me explain.”

“You had two days to explain. I know you’re technically on vacation, but you know you’re supposed to report in on any angel case you consult on. Especially a case like this. Tell me Hendrickson is lying… that you didn’t take some violent angel home with you instead of putting him down like protocol dictates. A protocol you wrote, I might add.”

“Cas isn’t violent.”

“Oh no? All those people just smote themselves, did they?”

“He was forced to do it. Did you see the journal?”

“Yeah, I saw it. And that was some pretty sick stuff that was done to him, but that don’t change the law. It don’t change the fact that once an angel kills a human, they can’t be trusted. This angel killed dozens of humans, Dean. You need to bring him in.”

“I’ll bring him to the station when he’s strong enough to give a statement,” said Dean. “Benny and Victor have been trying to bring MacLeod down for years. They found some evidence at his house, sure, but just think of how much more the angel could provide. He can confirm the victims, to start. No one knows for sure how many of these disappearances were due to MacLeod or if the were just coincidence. And think of how much other information he could provide. How MacLeod’s operation worked. How many people he had working for him. I already found out he had a partner. I’m sure there’s more where that came from.”

Bobby didn’t answer right away, and Dean shifted the phone to his other hand, holding his breath.

“The department has been getting flooded with calls from people who are afraid to leave their houses, knowing that angel’s out there,” Bobby said, at last. “People are calling for justice.”

“People are calling for blood,” said Dean. “There’s a difference. Look, just listen to what he has to say. He’ll be useful, I guarantee it.”

“Fine,” said Bobby. “Bring him to the station tomorrow. This is only because, up until now, you’ve always shown good judgment where angels are concerned. Do not make me regret this.”

“You won’t,” promised Dean. He’d just slipped his phone back into his pocket when Castiel spoke up from behind him.

“Now it all makes sense,” he said. Dean turned around and was met with eyes that seemed even more impossibly blue against the pallor of the angel’s face boring into his.

“How long have you been awake?” asked Dean.

“Long enough.” Castiel threw aside his blanket and struggled to his feet, hissing in discomfort as his wings hit the frame of the chair. He braced his arms against the porch rail for support, and looked out over the yard.

“You could have just said that you were trying to keep me alive to help with your case.”

“That’s not why,” said Dean, moving next to Castiel and resting his elbows on the smooth, white-painted wood. Castiel grunted.

“Right. Look me in the eye and tell me that the plan isn’t to interrogate me and then execute me.”

“Cas—“

“I know the law. I’ve harmed humans. I should be put to death. All I’ve ever asked is that it be quick. I do not understand your desire to draw this out.”

Dean hung his head in frustration, and fought to keep his voice calm.

“I’m not trying to draw anything out. Dammit, Cas, I’m trying to save your life! I don’t want anyone to interrogate you, but I have to find some way to buy some time until we can convince everyone else that you do _not_ deserve to die.”

“But I do, Dean. I’ve killed so many…”

“Not by choice, you said it yourself that first night when you were delirious or whatever.”

Castiel shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter. He turned me into a monster. I’ve been programmed to murder any human in the vicinity the instant my collar comes off, without thought. I deserve to die, whether quickly by a sword, or slower by the collar. I do not deserve more torture, which is what I’m sure will—“

“No one is going to torture you,” said Dean. “And you do not deserve to die. What Crowley forced you to do is on him, not you.”

Castiel’s eyes met Dean’s once again, full of remorse and sadness.

“Even if that were true, the fact remains that it would be dangerous for me to be around humans if my collar were removed. So,” he shrugged, “my demise is inevitable.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I will not kill again, Dean. This is the only way to ensure it.”

A cloud of dust developed at the end of the driveway. Castiel leaned over the railing, trying to see.

“What’s that?” he asked. Dean squinted in the direction of the dust. The vehicle wasn’t one he recognized, but the minivan screamed soccer mom, which gave him an idea of who it was most likely to be.

“Just someone who wanted to see you,” said Dean. “Someone who, by the way, blows your whole argument out of the water. Because you were with her while your collar was off. And she’s fine.”

Castiel tilted his head in confusion, but before Dean could explain further, the minivan pulled to a stop at the top of the driveway. Nora emerged from the driver’s side. The angel, Anna, appeared next, followed quickly by Julie. Anna bent her head toward the girl as Julie tugged on her sleeve, nodding in response to whatever was being said.

Castiel gasped and pushed away from the railing, stumbling over the lounger. Dean grabbed a hold of his arm, steadying him. His eyes were wide and terrified.

“Why? How?”

“Cas, just calm down. Julie wanted a chance to meet you. It’s not going to take long… she wants to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“For saving her.” Castiel’s eyes darted around the porch, looking for an escape route.

“No,” he said. “That’s… that’s…no.”

The trio approached the porch steps, and Dean turned around to greet them, still holding onto Castiel with one hand.

“Hello, Julie. Mrs. Pierce. Anna. Nice to see you all again,” said Dean, with a smile. Nora nodded politely. Julie suddenly seemed shy, and became very interested in examining the rag rug at the top of the steps. Anna took one horrified look at Castiel’s sheet covered wings and started to back away.

“Anna!” said Nora, sharply. “Stay.” She turned to Dean. “I’m sorry. She’s normally much better behaved.” Dean felt Castiel tense up beside him. Before Dean could say anything that would get him into trouble, Julie seemed to gather her courage, and stepped forward.

“I’m Julie,” she said to Castiel. Castiel looked at her in astonishment, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

“Castiel,” he managed, and Dean could tell that he would have stepped back, put a little more distance between the two of them, but the lounger chair was blocking him.

“Castiel,” she repeated, and then, after taking a deep breath, she flung her arms around the angel’s waist. Both Dean and Nora reached for her; Nora, terrified of the thought of scandal, and Dean afraid that she was going to cause Castiel pain. Nora stopped just short of touching her daughter, her eyes flying to Dean’s. Dean looked to Castiel, who shook his head slightly and gingerly rested a hand on the girl’s head.

“Just give it a minute,” said Dean. Nora pursed her lips, but backed up. Julie started to talk, her words muffled by Castiel’s toga-sheet. It took Dean a few seconds to realize that she was speaking Enochian.

“Baglen o gi ol hom,” she said. _Because of you I liveth._ “Ol ecrin gi.” _I praise you._

Castiel bent his head, his murmured response barely audible to Dean.

“Ecrin ip pambt, lap ol zir ip axios.” _Praise not unto me, for I am not worthy._

Julie looked up, her eyes shining and her face streaked with tears.

“You are,” she whispered.

“What are they saying?” demanded Nora.

“She’s just thanking him,” said Dean. Julie turned to face them, annoyed.

“May I please speak to him alone?” she asked.

“Absolutely not,” said Nora. Julie gestured to a tall oak tree just a few feet from the porch. A rough wooden swing hung from one of the thick branches.

“Just over there,” she said. “It’s… crowed up here.” The tree was close enough that Julie and Castiel would be clearly visible from the porch, but just far enough that, unless they were shouting, they wouldn’t be overheard. Nora hesitated.

“Think you can make it that far?” Dean asked Castiel. Castiel nodded. Julie seemed to take her mother’s silence as assent, and led Castiel down the porch steps toward the tree. Anna backed up to give them space, bowing her head slightly as Castiel passed by.

They moved slowly, with Castiel pausing every few steps to catch his breath, at one point steadying himself by resting a hand on Julie’s shoulder. Julie seemed not to mind, adjusting her pace to match Castiel’s and guiding him to the swing when they reached the tree. Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when he saw that Castiel’s feather tips easily cleared the ground when he lowered himself onto the seat of the swing. Julie leaned back against the tree and began to speak again. As they were farther away, now, Dean couldn’t tell if it was Enochian or English that was being spoken.

“I don’t know where she would have learned such… filth,” said Nora. Anna bowed her head further, but not before Dean caught a hint of a smile. 

“It’s a difficult language to learn,” said Dean. “She must be pretty smart.”

“She is,” allowed Nora. “But she’s so impulsive. She’s going to get herself in trouble one day.”

“Pretty sure Einstein’s mom said the same thing about him,” said Dean, trying to keep the mood light.

“I highly doubt that Einstein wasted his time with silly things like Enochian and slave rights.”

So much for that. Dean sighed. Nora grew more and more fidgety at his side, until Julie finally began walking back toward the porch.

“All right then, let’s go,” said Nora, making to herd Julie back to the mini van. “Thanks for accommodating us, Detective. Anna, come.”

“Go on ahead, I’ll be right there,” said Julie, ducking beneath Nora’s elbow and landing directly in front of Dean.

“Everything okay?” asked Dean. “Does he need some help getting back to the house?”

“Probably,” said Julie. “But he said he wanted to stay down there for a bit. He said the bees like the honeysuckle bush just to the side.”

“Well, I’ll give him a few minutes, then,” said Dean. Julie scuffed her shoe in the dirt.

“You’re not just going to let him die, are you?”

“I’m going to try not to,” said Dean. “But he’s a stubborn bastard.”

Julie giggled.

“Sorry.”

“I’ve heard the word before,” she said.

“Well, then, just don’t tell your mom.”

“I’m not stupid. But… please, keep trying, Detective Winchester. He deserves to be… happy.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” said Dean.

“He trusts you.”

Dean shook his head.

“He doesn’t.”

“He does,” insisted Julie. “He said you were his friend.”

“Julie!” called Nora from the car, “We have to go!”

Julie muttered something unintelligible under her breath and held out her hand.

“Thank-you,” she said. They shook hands, and Dean watched her trot to the vehicle and climb into the passenger seat before the three of them roared away in a cloud of dust. His phone alerted him to a text message, and Dean swiped the screen to find that Sam was on his way.

Dean pocketed his phone and walked over to where Castiel still sat on the swing, his head resting on one hand that was fisted around the rope supporting the swing. His eyes were open, fixed on the honeysuckle bush and the bees that swarmed around it.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Sorry to just spring that on you,” said Dean, lowering himself to the ground at the base of the tree. “I didn’t really get much warning, myself.”

“It’s fine,” said Castiel. “It was good for her. She’s a bright child, and very kind. Her family’s angel has been teaching her Enochian.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that out,” said Dean. He plucked a piece of grass and twirled it around in his fingers.

“She told me what you do. That your task force exists to help angels. I had no idea.”

“That’s because of you, Cas. You were out there somewhere, and I couldn’t find you. I saw so many other angels suffering, though, that I had to do something about it.”

Castiel shakily removed one hand from the rope and rested it on Dean’s shoulder.

“You are an exceptional human, Dean,” he said. “You never cease to amaze me. Julie told me that she wishes to join your task force when she is able.”

Dean chuckled.

“Perfect. Her parents are gonna love that.”

“You know,” he continued, “Just the fact that she’s here, healthy and walking and talking, disproves your argument that you’re a danger to humans with your collar off. To hear her tell it, Crowley gave you a direct order to end her. And you saved her instead.”

Castiel stiffened, and said,

“That was one time. Over years and years of causing death. It’s not worth the risk.”

“I don’t think it’s a risk. I’ve seen a lot of angels in bad situations. I’ve put a lot of ‘em down. I know when an angel poses a threat to us humans and when one doesn’t. I know you, Cas. I wish you’d believe me on this. Because me, and Sammy, and that little girl you say is so bright and kind… we’re all going to be pretty devastated when you kick the bucket. Especially since we know how to save you.”

Castiel’s hand tightened on Dean’s shoulder, though his grip was still too weak to cause Dean any pain.

“Dean,” he said, “What you’re asking—“

“I know it’s hard,” continued Dean. “And I know I have no right to ask you this, but please, Cas, trust me. Let me help you.”

Castiel closed his eyes.

“Alright,” he said, his voice scarcely above a whisper. Dean reached up and clasped the hand Castiel rested on his shoulder with his own.

******

Dean practically had to carry Castiel back to the house. Once he got the angel situated on one of the stools in the kitchen, both of them collapsed against the kitchen table, panting. Dean’s breathing normalized quickly. Castiel’s seemed to get worse instead of better as he continued to wheeze. His skin felt clammy and cool, and Castiel seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Sam’s almost here,” said Dean. “Just hang in there, okay?” Castiel didn’t have enough breath to speak, but he nodded. His head rested on his folded arms. Dean sent Sam a frantic text, urging him to hurry.

Sam burst through the door minutes later. Castiel’s eyes opened a crack.

“Sam,” he said, and his eyes slipped closed again.

“Hi, Cas,” said Sam, dumping his load of books and papers onto the table. “You ready for this?” Instead of answering Sam, Castiel slowly and painfully turned his head to Dean.

“Do… you have… your… angel blade?” he asked, between gasps.

“It’s in my bedroom,” said Dean. Castiel forced his eyes open and stared directly into Dean’s.

“On… you,” he managed to force out.

“Cas, you’re going to be fine.”

“Just… in case.”

“You’re going to be fine,” said Dean, again, but he rushed to his bedroom all the same. He located the angel blade and slipped it into its leather holster. Once back in the kitchen, he held up the blade for Castiel to see, then fastened the holster around his waist.

“We good?” he asked. Castiel nodded. Sam cleared his throat.

“Okay. I’m going to do the spell to release the wings, first.”

“Are you crazy? Take the damn collar off, first! Look at him!”

“The spell has to be reversed in a very specific way,” said Sam. “It was initially cast while you were wearing the collar, right Cas?”

“Yes,” wheezed Castiel.

“Then that’s how it needs to be reversed.”

Sam began chanting in Enochian. Dean crept closer to Castiel’s side, and when the angel began to tremble as the words started having their effect, he wormed his hand beneath one of Castiel’s. Castiel’s eyes didn’t open, but his hand weakly closed around Dean’s.

“I’m right here,” said Dean. “You got this, Cas.”

Sam stopped speaking. Castiel’s wings didn’t vanish, as Dean had expected. In fact, they didn’t seem to change at all.

“What the hell, Sam?” said Dean. Sam flipped through one of his books.

“I don’t know… just let me—“

“It worked,” whispered Castiel. “I… can feel it. Just… need… power.”

“Okay,” said Sam. “I’m getting to that… Dean, help him sit up so I can see the whole collar.”

Dean eased Castiel’s upper body off of the table, taking care to avoid touching or jostling his wings. Castiel’s head lolled against Dean’s shoulder. Dean tried to convince him to hold his head up, but Castiel couldn’t do it.

“It’s fine,” said Sam. “I can get to the parts I need.”

“Alright,” said Dean, relaxing. Their joined hands dropped to Castiel’s lap, and Dean made no effort to move as Sam began altering individual sigils in a very specific order, his brow furrowed in concentration. Dean felt sweat breaking out over his own forehead as Sam worked. He respected Sam’s abilities, of course, but the collar was so damn scary he half expected to see both Sam and Castiel fall over dead at any moment.

Long minutes stretched on, until finally Dean heard a sharp popping sound, and the collar fell away from Castiel’s neck to land harmlessly on the floor. Castiel’s eyes flew open and he gasped in a huge breath, pushing himself off of the stool and away from the table. Instantly, the bruises and scratches on his face healed, his color improved, and his wasted body filled in with muscle.

Castiel stood in the center of the kitchen, chest heaving, looking a little disoriented. Sam and Dean each grabbed one of his arms to steady him. Castiel paid them no attention, and closed his eyes, an expression of concentration crossing his features that was nearly identical to the one Sam had worn seconds ago. Sam and Dean exchanged concerned looks over Castiel’s head.

“Cas,” began Dean, and Castiel stumbled forward, groaning softly. He closed his eyes once again, and balled his hands into fists. He was trying to shift his wings into whatever dimension it was that allowed them to be invisible, realized Dean. He started to tell the angel to wait, to rest a little before attempting something that was so obviously draining, but stopped himself, knowing how important this was to Castiel.

A few moments later, with a quiet rustle of feathers, the wings vanished. The sheet seemed to deflate, and slipped off of Castiel’s shoulder. Dazed blue eyes met Dean’s, before shifting to look at Sam, and going right back to Dean.

“Thank-you,” murmured Castiel, a split second before his eyes rolled back in his head and his legs buckled.

“Whoa!” cried Dean, getting a firmer grip on Castiel’s arm.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” said Sam, bracing him from the other side.

Together, the two of them carried Castiel into the living room, depositing him gently on the couch. Sam propped him up on his side as Dean examined his back. It hadn’t completely healed like the rest of him, but the wounds had started to scab over and looked much better than they had earlier.

“Must be because they were caused by an angel blade,” said Dean. “Those wounds always take longer to heal, whether an angel has access to his grace or not. He should be okay on his back, though.”

They tried to position Castiel as comfortably as they could, and tucked a blanket around him. Dean brushed a hand over his forehead. No fever, and his skin felt normal.

“I think we actually did it, Sammy,” said Dean. Sam looked at Dean with a raised eyebrow, and Dean realized too late that his hand was still resting on Castiel’s forehead. He snatched it away and coughed.

“I think he just needs to sleep it off for awhile. His grace probably needed some time to recover after removing that collar, but he didn’t give a chance before pushing himself to get rid of the wings. But he should be okay.”

Sam nodded in agreement.

“That’s what I was thinking, too. He looks so much better already.”

“You wanna stick around for awhile? Take a quick nap before you head back? There’s another couch,” said Dean. Sam shook his head.

“I really want to get back. Now that I know Cas is going to be okay, I can focus on Adam and Sarah.” Dean grinned and enfolded his giant of a baby brother in a hug.

“Congratulations, by the way. I don’t think I ever got to tell you that.”

“Well, you had other things on your mind,” said Sam, patting Dean on the back. “And congratulations to you, to, uncle.”

Dean couldn’t stop his smile.

******

In the hours after Sam left, Dean busied himself tidying up the kitchen and front porch. This took much longer than it should have, as Dean couldn’t resist going into the other room every few minutes to check on Castiel. There were a few times that he found himself sitting in a chair, simply watching the angle sleep.

For once, Castiel slept comfortably, not plagued by the pain of his injuries, or delirious with fever, or frightened out of his mind. He looked healthy; something Dean couldn’t quite reconcile himself to, considering how near death Castiel had been just a half an hour earlier. He was almost mesmerized by the slow rise and fall of the angel’s chest, and the peaceful look on his face that Dean couldn’t ever remember seeing on Castiel, even in childhood.

The fifth time he found himself sitting in the living room, watching Castiel sleep, Dean decided that enough was enough. He stalked back into the kitchen, closing the door to the living room tightly behind him. He remembered the pie in the refrigerator, and decided to cut himself a slice and make a cup of coffee.

No sooner had he sat down with his pie and coffee than knock sounded at the door, followed by a much louder pounding. Dean approached the door warily, wondering he was about to face the consequences of bringing Castiel home.

“Hey, Deano! Open the door!” Dean’s shoulders slumped in relief. Only one being, angel or human, ever called him “Deano.”

“You wanna try keeping it down?” said Dean, opening the door to allow Gabriel and Aaron to enter. Gabriel slugged him in the shoulder.

“Keep what down? Have you forgotten our traditional Thursday evening get-togethers?”

“Have _you_ forgotten I’m on vacation? I’m supposed to be in Florida right now,” said Dean. Traditional Thursday night get-togethers, what the hell? They’d had dinner once on a Thursday; the day Aaron had taken Gabriel home. Gabriel spotted the pie and shoved past Aaron to take a seat in the kitchen.

“Great, pie! Don’t mind if I do!” he said, pulling Dean’s slice toward him. He took a sip of Dean’s coffee and grimaced. “Man, don’t you haven any sugar in this joint?”

“I would never ruin a perfectly good cup of coffee with sugar,” said Dean, rescuing his cup from Gabriel before turning to Aaron.

“You want anything?” he asked. “Coffee? Pie?”

“What kind of pie?” asked Aaron, shrugging out of his jacket.

“Apple,” said Gabriel, his voice muffled by the huge bite he’d just taken. “It’s fantastic.”

“How do you put up with him 24/7?” asked Dean, cutting two more slices of pie and starting on a third when Gabriel gestured to his nearly empty plate. Aaron took a seat next to Gabriel and playfully cuffed him on the back of the head.

“He’s not that bad,” he said. “Plus, you should see the joints he rolls. They’re works of art, man. To. Die. For.”

“You know I’m a cop, right?” said Dean, settling back on his stool with the plates of pie and two more cups of coffee. Gabriel slung an arm around Dean’s shoulders.

“Aw, come on, Dean. Don’t mess with my master,” he said, spraying piecrust crumbs across the table.

“I told you not to call me that, Gabe,” grumbled Aaron, taking a bite of pie.

“My kind, generous master even shares his weed with me, so don’t go making him jumpy, Detective. I don’t want to decrease my supply.” Dean shrugged out from under Gabriel’s arm.

“Can you even get high?”

Gabriel grinned and tapped his collar.

“There are benefits to this restricting of power thing, my friend. It may take me a while, but I get there in the end.”

A noise from the doorway to the living room caused all three of them to turn in that direction. Castiel stood, leaning on the doorframe, his sheet still slipping off of one shoulder, looking bewildered by the commotion. A crash sounded from behind Dean, and he whipped around to see Gabriel staring at Castiel, his golden brown eyes wide, and his mouth hanging open. His coffee cup had shattered on the kitchen floor, and the coffee had splattered all over Aarons’ shoes and pants.

“Jeez, Gabe, watch what you’re doing,” said Aaron.

“Sorry,” muttered Gabriel, and Dean and Aaron stared at each other, incredulous. Since when did Gabriel apologize for anything?

Gabriel slid off of his stool and absently waved his hand, clearing away the spilled coffee and repairing the cup. He approached Castiel slowly, disbelievingly.

“Brother?” he whispered.

“Gabriel,” said Castiel, nodding, and suddenly Gabriel lunged forward, gathering the taller angel in his arms and squeezing.

Squeezing a little too hard, by the looks of things, as Castiel hissed and tried to pull away.

“Gabriel, please. My back.”

“Your back? What?” Gabriel released Castiel, swiping at the moisture on his cheeks, and Dean had his second surprise in less than a minute, for in all his years of working with angels, he’d never before seen one cry. Gabriel circled Castiel, examining him from every viewpoint, while the other angel stood straight and stoic, eyes dry.

“Angel blade,” Gabriel mumbled, when he’d reached Castiel’s back. He completed his circle and lightly touched his fingers to the angry red mark around Castiel’s neck, where his collar used to be.

“What happened to you?” he asked. “Your grace… it’s… damaged. And your wings…”

“Who did this?” he demanded, looking not at Castiel, but at Dean.

“You can see his wings?” Dean said, stupidly.

“I can sense them,” said Gabriel, eyes flashing. “What the hell did they do to him?”

Castiel placed his hands on Gabriel’s shoulders and gently rotated him so that the angels were facing each other.

“Gabriel,” he said, “It’s okay.” Gabriel seemed to crumple, then, allowing Castiel to draw him into another, less bruising hug.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he said, his head resting on Castiel’s shoulder.

Dean and Aaron both stared at the angels, equal expressions of disbelief on their faces. This couldn’t be Gabriel… cheerful, sardonic, inappropriate Gabriel… crying into Castiel’s (had he called him brother?) shoulder.

Dean finally recovered his powers of locomotion, and got up.

“Hey, guys,” he said, softly. “Wanna come sit down? Before Cas collapses on me again?” He guided both angels to the table, giving up his stool to Castiel, as the fourth was still upstairs in the bathtub.

“You two are related?” said Aaron, looking back and forth between Gabriel and Castiel.

“All angels see each other in a kind of familial, sibling-like way,” Dean explained quietly. “That only changes if two form a grace-bond, which occurs solely between mated pairs.”

“We were born at the same facility,” said Gabriel. “They separated us and sent us to different places to be trained. I never thought…” he trailed off.

Aaron and Dean tried to give Castiel and Gabriel some space as they got to know one another again. It didn’t escape Dean’s notice, though, as he moved in an out of the kitchen, that Castiel seemed to be giving Gabriel a highly edited version of what had happened to him.

“Why didn’t you tell him what really happened?” asked Dean, after Aaron and Gabriel had finally left, hours later. Castiel shrugged from where he sat at the table, watching Dean clear away the dishes.

“He was upset enough at my condition,” he said. “There didn’t seem to be any point in making it worse.” Dean pushed the start button on the dishwasher and walked back over to the table.

“And what did he mean when he said your grace was damaged? I thought removing the collar would fix it.”

“It will,” said Castiel. “It did. But it was almost destroyed completely by that collar. It’s going to take a little while for it to recover completely. I will be quite limited as far as power goes for some time.” Castiel’s stomach rumbled, and he looked down at it in irritation.

“I fear this means I will be forced to function as a human for longer than I’d anticipated.”

“Well, why didn’t you say something, Cas? You saw how many slices of pie Gabriel put away, and he doesn’t even need to eat.” Dean pulled the last remaining slice of pie out of the fridge and set it in front of Castiel.

“Is that why you’re still rocking the scruff?” Castiel squinted at him in confusion, and Dean leaned forward and passed two fingers over Castiel’s growing beard. And again with the face touching? What was _wrong_ with him?

“That’s some nice peach fuzz you’ve got going there, Cas,” said Dean, trying to turn it into a joke, to pretend that he hadn’t just inappropriately touched the guy’s face for the third time that day.

“Thank-you,” said Castiel gravely.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for yet another long break between chapters. This chapter fought me every step of the way. Thanks so much for all of the comments and kudos. Even though I've not been able to answer lately, the comments are so motivating, and kept me going even when I was ready to throw out the chapter time and again. So, a huge thank you to all who commented!

Chapter 5

Castiel exited the shower in a cloud of steam and, remembering his conversation with Sam, wrapped a towel tightly around his waist. He squirted a liberal amount of toothpaste onto his toothbrush and scrubbed at his teeth. After spitting and rinsing, he carefully placed the toothbrush back into the holder next to the sink and the toothpaste back into the drawer in front of him. He swiped the fogged mirror, clearing a space and examining his reflection.

The hair on his face kept growing. It was disconcerting. He twisted around, trying to get a better look at his back. Just being able to move that much was evidence of the healing that had taken place, he knew, but he wanted to see. Some of the more superficial wounds had faded, with only pink, puckered scar tissue visible, and even the worst of the lash marks had scabbed over. The injuries to his wings had been more severe, and movement still caused pain. They were healing, though. And, more importantly from Castiel’s point of view, they remained hidden.

He faced forward again. He’d lived inside his head, for the most part, his interactions with the world around him consisting solely of pain, fear, and humiliation, for so long that the face staring back at him seemed to belong to a stranger. He couldn’t help but feel a little surprised to see that any movement he made was replicated by his reflection.

Castiel slowly brought his fingers up to his neck, tracing the reddened skin that marked the area where his collar had rested. That hadn’t faded at all over the course of the night, and Castiel wondered if it would become a permanent part of him, or if his recovering grace would eventually be able to erase it.

He startled slightly as a knock sounded at the door.

“Cas? You decent in there?” said Dean.

It had been so many years since he’d actually conversed with a human, as opposed to simply following barked commands without question, that he was finding it difficult to understand the subtle nuances of normal conversation. He knew that the word _decent_ was defined _to be of an acceptable standard, or to be satisfactory._ He wasn’t quite certain of the context in which Dean had used the word.

“Yes,” said Castiel, deciding that, as he’d just completed the appropriate bodily hygiene tasks, this was the correct way to answer.

Dean opened the door and stepped into the bathroom.

“I brought you some clothes,” he said, offering a bundle of the black, loose fitting cotton garments traditionally worn by slaves, to Castiel. “We can’t have you going out in public in a pair of sleep pants and a sheet.”

Castiel stared at the clothing, suddenly feeling chilled even in the almost tropical heat of the steamy bathroom. This was the first step. Dressing in the shapeless black clothes meant that Master intended to take him out of the house. Leaving the house meant there would be humans to smite.

“Cas? You alright?”

Castiel blinked. This was different, he told himself, and stretched out a hand to receive the clothing. His hand trembled, and his fingers refused to close around the soft fabric.

“Hey,” said Dean, setting the bundle on the counter. “What’s up, Cas?”

Castiel looked down at the floor, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. He didn’t want to see the pity he knew he would find there. He didn’t deserve pity, not when he’d been responsible for the deaths of so many. A light touch on his shoulder caused his head to snap up, and he found that the concern in Dean’s eyes was almost as bad as the pity would have been. He forced himself to take a deep breath.

“I’m fine,” he said, but still couldn’t bring himself to touch the pile of clothing that rested just inches away. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from it, either. Dean followed his line of sight.

“Is something the matter with the clothes? They’re pretty standard. And they should fit just fine… they were big on Gabriel. They’ve also been _washed_ , since Gabriel, so there’s that, at least.”

Dean was waiting for him to do or say something, Castiel knew, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Okay,” said Dean, after a few seconds had passed. “You don’t have to put them on right now.”

He riffled through the clothes and extracted a leather collar, holding it up for Castiel to examine.

“A Sammy special,” said Dean.

“This collar is useless,” said Castiel, after little more than a glance. “The sigils are incorrectly drawn.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“I know, Cas. That’s the idea. So you can go out and about and not have your grace bound. Sam’s been making these for years.”

Castiel took the collar from Dean and examined it, fascinated by the concept.

“In that case, this is very well done, indeed,” he said. “Sam is quite clever.”

“He is,” agreed Dean, pride evident not only in his tone, but in his wide smile. “But don’t tell him I said that. It’ll go to his head.” He took the collar back from Castiel and placed it on the counter.

“Before we put it on, you should probably shave.”

“I should… what?”

“Your beard,” said Dean, gesturing. “We need to make a good impression today, and the scruff’s going to have to go.”

Castiel moved out of the way as Dean began opening drawers and pulling out supplies, marveling that there really seemed to be no end to these human hygiene rituals. He picked up the canister that Dean set before him and squinted at the label.

“Shaving cream,” said Dean. “You put that on first, and then use the razor.”

Castiel had no idea what Dean was talking about. Dean noticed his blank look and grabbed the shaving cream.

“How ‘bout a little demonstration?” He squirted a mound of foam into one hand and motioned for Castiel to do the same.

“Now, just smear it on your face, like this. Pretty much, wherever there’s hair, that’s where you want the shaving cream. Capisce?”

“I capisce,” said Castiel, carefully spreading the foam over his stubble.

“It doesn’t have to be exact, Cas,” said Dean, having already finished, as he watched Castiel meticulously outlining his beard.

“But, you said—“

“I know what I said. Believe me, you’re good.”

Dean unwrapped a new, plastic razor and passed it over to Castiel. He picked up his own razor and stared into the mirror.

“Okay, now pull your skin tight with your other hand. You want to shave with the grain, one section at a time… yeah, just like that.”

Castiel dragged the razor over his skin, trying to imitate the motions Dean demonstrated. Dean lifted his chin, exposing the long column of his throat, as he progressed to his lower jaw. Castiel’s eyes tracked Dean’s movement, until a sharp stab of pain caused him to gasp and drop his razor in surprise. A thin line of blood appeared on his cheek, at which point Castiel’s grace was triggered to begin healing the nick, all without conscious effort from Castiel.

The attempt to use his grace had him doubled over in pain, gripping the counter in an effort to remain on his feet. Dean grabbed Castiel’s arm and hauled him upright.

“Dammit, Cas!” cried Dean. “Really?”

“I didn’t mean to,” said Castiel. “It just… happened.”

“Like a reflex?”

“Yes.” Castiel steadied himself against the edge of the counter and took a deep breath. The pain gradually subsided, leaving him feeling lightheaded and weak. Dean retrieved Castiel’s razor from where it had fallen into the sink.

“All right. I’m taking over. This isn’t supposed to be a life or death operation.”

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel, allowing Dean to turn him so they were facing each other. Dean rinsed the razor and began shaving where Castiel left off.

“It healed,” he said, going over the area where the cut had been, adding, “Hold still,” as Castiel opened his mouth to respond. Castiel complied, his eyes on Dean’s face, watching as his brow furrowed in concentration and his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth. The rasping sound of the razor was an alien to his ears, and the humid air felt cool on the patches of skin that had been cleared of hair and shaving cream.

“The staring’s a little creepy, Cas.”

“You told me not to move, Dean. Where else am I supposed to look?”

“Well, would it kill you to blink once in a while?”

“I highly doubt it would kill me, no.”

They were standing so close together that Castiel was able to perceive the movement of each individual muscle as Dean struggled to hold back his smile. Dean lost that battle eventually, and barked out a laugh.

“Damn, I missed you, Cas,” he said, and this time it was he who raised his eyes to meet Castiel’s. Castiel calmly gazed back, watching as the amusement in those green eyes faded, turning into something else entirely… something Castiel couldn’t identify. Dean’s hand holding the razor stilled, and he set it down before grabbing a small hand towel and leaning in to wipe the last traces of shaving cream from Castiel’s face.

Castiel lifted a hand and touched the tips of his fingers to his newly bare skin. Dean followed the movement with his eyes, swallowing as Castiel’s fingers passed over his lips. They both stood, unmoving, inhaling and exhaling the same air in a perfectly coordinated rhythm. Goosebumps rose on Castiel’s skin as Dean’s breath puffed along the line of his jaw, and he shivered.

“Cas,” said Dean, quietly.

“Yes, Dean?”

“There’s this thing, Cas. It’s called personal space.”

“I haven’t moved, Dean.”

Dean’s face flushed and he took a quick step back. He looked away and nervously rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, clearing his throat at the same time.

“Uh, okay. You’re done. You probably should put some clothes on. I’ll just, uh, leave you to it, then.” He turned on his heel and grabbed the doorknob.

“Dean.” Dean stopped, but didn’t turn around. Castiel could see that the tips of his ears were red.

“Yeah?”

“Thank-you for your assistance.”

“No problem.” Dean opened the door.

“Also, approximately twenty percent of the surface area of your face is still covered in shaving cream.”

“Son of a bitch!”

******

Ten minutes later, Castiel sat on the bed in the guest room, staring at the mound of clothing in his lap. He was supposed to be getting dressed while Dean finished shaving, but he’d been unable to force himself to don the traditional slave uniform. He knew he was being absurd, but there was a part of him that couldn’t help but see putting this clothing on as the impetus of a chain reaction that would only result in death.

“You ready?” called Dean, rapping lightly at the door.

“Not quite,” said Castiel.

“Well finish primping, Lady Gaga, and let’s get going!”

Castiel didn’t answer.

“Cas?”

Castiel rose from the bed and opened the door, still clutching the towel around his waist. Dean leaned against the doorframe and sighed.

“Dude, what is the deal with the clothes?”

“Would it be entirely inappropriate to wear the… sleep pants, did you call them?”

Dean closed his eyes.

“Yes, yes it would.”

“Why?”

“Because, Cas, that’s just the way it is. I don’t get why this is such a big deal. Those clothes are made of practically the same material as the sleep pants. They’re just a little classier. I’m sure you’ve worn them before… oh.”

Dean’s eyes opened as the realization dawned. Castiel looked away, guilt and shame causing his face to grow hot.

“It was the only time I was ever clothed,” he said. “And I—“

“It’s okay,” said Dean. “I get it, Cas. Just hold on.”

He walked out of the room, returning after a moment with another armload of clothing of different fabrics and colors, which he deposited onto the bed. Castiel approached to take a closer look.

“And… these are appropriate?” asked Castiel. They looked an awful lot like the clothes Dean was currently wearing. 

“Yes,” said Dean, firmly. “They’ll be fine.” He checked his watch.

“We need to get going. Do you need any of this, ah, explained?”

“I can manage.” Castiel picked up a pair of pants that appeared to be made of blue colored denim, momentarily forgetting his towel, which slipped from around his waist.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” said Dean, backing out of the room.

******

Castiel nearly fell down the stairs, not having anticipated how the shoes would affect his balance and coordination. He’d never worn shoes before but, as Dean had included them with the rest of the clothing, he figured that they must be essential to the outfit. He carefully made his way into the kitchen, and found Dean sitting at the table, hunched over a newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee.

“Looking good, Cas,” said Dean.

“Thank-you,” said Castiel. He tripped over the shoes and steadied himself against one of the stools. “I’m still adjusting to the footwear.”

“At least you’ve got ‘em on the right feet,” said Dean, folding his paper. “You want some breakfast before we go?”

“No.” Castiel straightened and took a cautious step away from the stool. His feet felt heavy, much heavier than the shoes themselves seemed to weigh.

“You sure? You didn’t eat much yesterday, so unless your grace is suddenly back to fully functioning…”

“It’s not. But I feel as though my body would reject anything I attempt to eat at the moment.”

“Nervous?” Castiel pondered the word. Nervous? Did it fit? He wasn’t sure, and remained quiet as Dean pulled his key ring from the pocket of his jeans and shrugged into his jacket.

“Okay, Cas. Let’s go.”

“Do you have your angel blade?” asked Castiel.

“We’re just going to the station for a couple hours.”

“But, do you have it?” Castiel’s fingers found the leather collar around his neck. It felt familiar against his skin, but the lack of restraint of his grace in the presence of a collar was different. His grace remained weakened, certainly, but nevertheless, he was about to go out among humans unbound and uncontrolled. Nervous was definitely the wrong word, Castiel decided. He was terrified.

Dean disappeared from the room for a few seconds. Castiel stayed put, worried he’d angered him somehow. When Dean returned, he held the silver blade up for Castiel to see before tucking it inside his jacket.

“I still think it’s unnecessary,” he said.

“I disagree,” said Castiel softly, as he followed Dean out the door. Dean didn’t seem to realize the danger in taking Castiel out like this. Castiel wondered if Dean would feel differently if he’d actually seen what Castiel had done… had been doing for so many years.

******

Castiel tripped over his shoes again as they walked through the doorway of the police station. He was following close behind Dean, and when he stumbled and attempted to keep his balance, he crashed into him. Dean gave a startled gasp and staggered forward. Immediately, two of the men who’d been standing in the hall rushed forward, placing themselves between Dean and Castiel.

“Get back,” snarled one of them, leaning threateningly into Castiel’s space. He didn’t have an angelic weapon on him. In fact, all Castiel could see was his holstered revolver; but he seemed incredibly angry, and Castiel took an unsteady step back. Unfortunately, he once more tripped over his shoes, and, unable to catch himself, wound up landing hard on the floor.

The man continued to advance, and Castiel scooted along the polished floor until his back hit the wall.

“Get me something to restrain him,” said the man, his eyes fixed on Castiel.

“Leave him alone, Henrickson,” said Dean, shaking off the bearded man who was trying to steady him and striding forward to place himself between Castiel and the man he’d referred to as Henrickson.

“Leave him alone? Did you see what he just—“

“He tripped. He’s still getting used to the shoes,” said Dean. He bent and offered a hand to Castiel.

“You alright?” he asked. Castiel nodded, but hesitated to accept the offer of help, his gaze flitting from Dean to Henrickson, who appeared to be barely holding back his rage. Dean shot Henrickson an exasperated glance and moved to block the other man from Castiel’s view.

“It’s okay, Cas,” he said, continuing to hold out his hand. “Come on.”

Castiel allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, though he kept his eyes trained on the floor. After ensuring that Castiel was standing steadily, Dean turned to face the growing crowd.

“Everyone, this is Castiel. He’s here to help Victor and Benny with their case against Fergus MacLeod. I know that there’s probably a lot of rumors going around about him and his connection to MacLeod’s crimes, but I can assure you that most of what you’ve heard is bullshit. We’re going to set Cas up in Interview… what’s free, Benny?”

“Interview Room 1 is free,” said the bearded man who’d come to Dean’s assistance earlier.

“Fine,” said Dean, and led Castiel through a large, crowded room and down another hallway before ushering him through a door and into a much smaller room furnished with only a faux wooden table and four plastic chairs. Dean gestured to one of the chairs, and Castiel sat down, folding his hands in his lap and looking down at the wood grain finish of the table. He heard Dean move away from him and converse quietly with two people just outside the door, but couldn’t quite make out what was being said. He shivered. This was a bad idea. What was Dean thinking?

“How’re you doing, Cas? Want something to drink?” Dean was back at Castiel’s side, a hand on his shoulder.

“No, thank-you,” said Castiel, not looking up from the table. Dean dropped into the chair next to him.

“Sorry about back there,” he said. “Everyone’s just a little edgy.”

“They cannot be faulted for that.”

“Cas—“

“Do you have your blade?”

“ _Yes_. It’s in my jacket, just like it was in the house before we left, and on the drive in, and when I parked in the lot.” Castiel sensed Dean’s annoyance, and silently wrung his hands under the table. This was a bad idea; there was no way this was going to end well.

The door opened, then, and Benny and Henrickson entered, each carrying a stack of three ring binders.

“Hello, Castiel,” said Benny, placing his armload on the table in front of Castiel. “You’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

“Damn straight he is,” said Dean, an edge to his voice that Castiel hadn’t heard from him before. Benny ignored him, and laid a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel shrugged away before he could stop himself, and looked up to see if he would be punished for his mistake. He found only kindness in Benny’s light blue eyes.

“I’m glad,” said Benny. Castiel felt Dean relax slightly beside him, and turned just in time to catch Dean’s smile. Henrickson coughed and dropped the binders he’d been holding onto the table.

“Let’s get started,” he said. “We don’t have all day.” Castiel didn’t miss the glare he shot in Dean’s direction.

“How far back do these go?” asked Dean.

“Twenty years,” said Benny. “That’s how long Castiel was owned by MacLeod, right?”

“That’s right.” Dean dragged the binders closer to him and shuffled through them before extracting one from the pile. He opened it to the first page and slid it in front of Castiel. Castiel looked down and blinked at the rows of photos in front of him.

“These are all of the missing persons reported from the area in the last two decades,” said Dean. “Just take a look through these books and let us know if you recognize anyone.”

“You want to know if I murdered any of these humans,” stated Castiel. Henrickson’s dark eyes flashed and his jaw tightened. Benny dropped down into an empty chair and sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. Dean leaned closer, lowering his voice.

“Just tell us if you see someone familiar,” he said. “And we’ll go from there.”

Castiel pulled the binder closer and examined each picture carefully before flipping the page. The humans in the room watched without comment as he made it way through the first binder. It was only when he closed and set it aside that Benny spoke up.

“You… you really haven’t seen any of those people before?” he asked. Castiel shook his head, and accepted the next binder that Dean handed to him. Benny retrieved the first binder and flicked through it, before placing it on top of the one Castiel had just opened. He pointed to a photo of a grim looking man wearing a wide-brimmed, black, straw hat.

“Mordecai Murdoch.” said Benny. “I’m sure he did a deal with MacLeod. His farm was failing, and his financial situation was dire. He was a widower with seven daughters to take care of. All of a sudden, he came into a large amount of money and was able to pay off his debts and sell the farm. A year or so later, he just up and vanished without a trace. He fits the profile of what we’re looking for almost exactly, right down to the fact that he used to frequent a bar that MacLeod was known to have conducted other business in back in the day.”

Castiel shook his head again.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Benny frowned.

“I’m sure MacLeod was behind this,” he said. “Look again.”

Castiel dutifully peered down at the photograph once more.

“I’ve never seen him,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean that Mas—that MacLeod wasn’t responsible. It just means that I cannot confirm it. This book of photos was before my time, I believe.”

“Dean just said that you’ve been with MacLeod for the past twenty years.” Benny’s tone wasn’t hostile; he seemed genuinely confused. Castiel took a deep breath.

“I wasn’t a killer for all of those years,” he said quietly. “It took them a while to… train me.”

Benny said something in response, but Castiel couldn’t hear it over the sound of his blood pumping in his ears as bits and pieces of memories flooded his consciousness. The desperate, broken pleas of the humans during their last moments… the brilliant flame of souls being burned away… the way his body automatically sprang into action the instant the collar fell away from his skin.

Castiel’s head spun, and his chest tightened. The room seemed not to contain enough oxygen. His hands flew to his neck, fingers scrabbling for his collar. It wasn’t until the collar was firmly pressed against his neck that he was able to draw in a ragged, wheezing breath.

Dean’s voice seemed far away, but it managed to break through the wall of memories nonetheless.

“Cas,” he said, “Hey, Cas. You with me?”

Castiel blinked, startled to find Dean’s face just inches from his.

“Y—yes,” he said.

Dean relaxed a little at that, and sat back down in his chair before turning to Benny.

“Ease up,” said Dean. “You’ve read the journal. You know what he’s been through.”

Benny took a step back.

“Just tryin’ to bring these families some closure, brother,” he said.

“It’s not like he’s made of glass,” spoke up Henrickson from his position leaning against the doorjamb. “You seem to have forgotten that he’s just an angel. A human killing angel at that.”

Dean’s chair scraped against the floor as he spun around to face Henrickson.

“It’s okay,” said Castiel, before Dean could speak. “I’m fine.” He reached for the next binder and opened it to the first page of photos.

“See?” said Henrickson.

“Victor, if you have something else to do, I can handle this,” said Benny.

“Here,” interrupted Castiel. He tapped a photo and Benny leaned in for a closer look.

“Cal Garrigan,” he said, and Castiel stared down at the dark-haired, bearded man, finally putting a name to one of the faces that had been haunting his memories for so many years.

“No surprises there,” continued Benny. “Considering his history, it was only a matter of time before something got him. To tell the truth, I’m pretty sure his girlfriend and son were relieved when he didn’t come home that night.”

“Doesn’t mean he deserved to be burned to a crisp from the inside out by an angel,” muttered Henrickson.

“You know, Henrickson, I think Benny’s right. You can go. We’ve got this handled,” said Dean, once again turning in his chair and glaring at the detective.

A knock sounded at the door and Henrickson moved out of the way, farther into the room. A thin, elaborately made-up woman with long, wavy blond hair poked her head inside.

“Detective Winchester, Captain Singer would like to see you in his office,” she said as she glanced around the room. Her eyes landed on Castiel, and Castiel tensed under her cold, calculating stare.

“We’re not quite done in here, Lilith,” said Dean. “Castiel is assisting LaFitte and Henrickson with their case.”

“Captain Singer said right this instant, and that LaFitte and Henrickson are perfectly capable of taking the angel’s statement,” said Lilith, her eyes still fixed on Castiel. “He also asked me to remind you of why there even needs to be a meeting in the first place.”

Dean muttered something unintelligible under his breath and pushed his chair back.

“We’ll be fine,” said Benny. “Right Castiel?”

“Yes,” said Castiel. “We will be fine.” He flipped to the next page of photos and avoided making eye contact with both Benny and Henrickson. He came across another familiar face, and pointed to it, swallowing heavily.

“Lester Morris,” said Benny, making a note on the pad in front of him. “Another one that doesn’t really surprise me.”

Dean stood.

“Cas, are you sure?”

“Yes, Dean,” said Castiel. “I wouldn’t want you to keep your boss waiting.”

“Alright,” said Dean. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay? If you need anything, just ask Benny.”

Castiel nodded, still concentrating on the photos. The door closed, and Castiel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in his relief of being out from under Lilith’s scrutiny. He pointed out two more faces that he recognized, each time committing the names to memory as Benny recited them. Bill Gibson and Jeremy Frost.

Benny’s phone chirped a few minutes later.

“It’s Andrea,” he said.

“You should take it,” said Henrickson. “There might be news about her mother.”

“I know,” said Benny. “Can I trust you in here with him?”

“What do you think I’m going to do to him?” scoffed Henrickson. “It’s not like I have an angel blade, what with Winchester being as stingy with those as he is.”

“Brother, I’m starting to think that Winchester might not be so far off with his angel blade policy,” said Benny, before turning to Castiel.

“I’ll be right outside,” he said.

Castiel nodded, keeping his head down. This time, when the door clicked shut, he didn’t feel relief at all. Castiel took a deep breath and continued paging through the book in front of him. He tried imagine that Henrickson wasn’t in the room. That became impossible when Henrickson crossed the room and sat down in Dean’s empty chair. Henrickson smiled at Castiel’s sharp inhale.

“Afraid of me, angel?” he said.

Castiel turned another page, deciding that silence was his best strategy. His gaze landed on the face of a middle-aged man whose hair was just beginning to go gray. He remembered this human, because he hadn’t tried to fight, or run, or plead. He’d stood there, stoic and resigned, saying only,

_I made the deal. I’d do it again. She’s worth it, and I’d have died for her on the spot._

“This one,” said Castiel, indicating the man’s picture with a shaking hand.

“Evan Hudson,” said Henrickson. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Now this one… this one you can’t make yourself feel better by claiming he was some lowlife that was asking for it like Benny was doing with the others back there. Evan Hudson had a family. He had a good job, and he was important to this community. He spent his spare time mentoring foster kids, did you know that, angel?”

Castiel mutely shook his head. Henrickson leaned closer, uncrossing his arms and resting his hands on his knees, his face too close to Castiel’s.

“Do you know what Evan Hudson’s crime was?”

Castiel shook his head again.

“Evan’s wife had cancer. She was dying. She didn’t have much time left when they got wind of this new treatment that had just become available. Mrs. Hudson was a good candidate. She was young, and otherwise in good health. The only problem was that Evan’s insurance wouldn’t cover the cost. So Evan, to save his wife, made a deal with MacLeod. And when he couldn’t pay the loan back, MacLeod brought you; his conscienceless little attack angel to kill him in cold blood.”

Castiel looked away. It felt as thought there was a lump in his throat, and the corners of his eyes burned.

“So, you can sit there, all healed up and dressing like you’re human, and pretend that you haven’t murdered innocent people… that you don’t deserve to die for what you’ve done… but just be aware that I know. I haven’t forgotten about Evan Hudson and his wife. And nothing you do will ever be enough to atone for all of those human lives taken. And nothing that Dean says about you is ever going to convince me that you do not pose a danger to humans every second that you’re around them.”

Castiel kept his eyes trained on the floor, and breathed short, shallow breaths through slightly parted lips.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, angel.”

Castiel closed his eyes. He knew that what Henrickson said was true… that there was no way to atone for what he had done, even though he’d managed to save the life of the girl, Julie, and even if he helped the police to capture and punish Master.

Henrickson grabbed Castiel by the chin and wrenched his head up. Castiel’s eyes flew open as Henrickson roughly turned his head until he and Henrickson were eye to eye. Castiel instinctively tried to escape the detective’s hold by throwing his head back.

“I told you to look at me,” said Henrickson, his words little more than a low growl, and his grip tightened.

Castiel’s grace flared in response to the unprovoked attack by an unfamiliar human, and he’d raised a hand before he was aware of what he was doing. He flung himself back bodily; knocking over the chair he’d been sitting on as he crashed to the floor. His hands found his collar, and he clung to the strip of leather like a lifeline, though he knew the corrupted sigils rendered it useless.

Henrickson moved closer as Castiel pressed himself against the wall.

“S—stay back!” gasped Castiel. Henrickson grinned.

“Are you threatening me, angel? You gonna rip that collar off and smite me, just like you did to poor Evan Hudson?”

Henrickson reached out to grab Castiel again. Castiel shrank as far away as the wall would allow, but he couldn’t get far enough away to escape Henrickson’s reach, and the man’s hand closed around Castiel’s shoulder. There was a sharp sizzle and a snap of sparks. Henrickson withdrew his hand with a shout just as the door to the room banged open.

“What the hell is going on in here!” said Benny as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. He paused, taking in the overturned chairs and Castiel, huddled on the floor, and Henrickson on the other side of the room. Henrickson frowned as he massaged his hand.

“He attacked me!”

“With his collar on?” said Benny. “What could he possibly do?”

“He did something! You know his history… no collar can control him completely. Look at my hand! He burned it!”

Benny looked around the room again.

“What it looks like, Victor, is that he was provoked. What did you do to him?”

“Are you kidding me? I’m the one who’s injured, here!”

Castiel remained in his position plastered against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest and his head in his hands. He muttered to himself in Enochian, trying to calm his racing heart and roiling grace. Benny and Henrickson’s argument went on over his head, but the words ceased to mean anything and just added to the noise and agitation in the room.

“Castiel.”

Castiel didn’t recognize the voice calling his name at first. He knew only that it wasn’t Dean’s voice. He kept his head buried in his hands and tried to shrink further away from the sound.

“Castiel,” came the voice again, and Castiel scrunched his eyes closed even more tightly.

“Cas.” Castiel cautiously opened his eyes at the nickname, half expecting to see Sam or Dean beside him, though the voice wasn’t familiar. Instead, he found Benny crouched in front of him. The worried frown upon his face relaxed into some semblance of a smile when Castiel slowly raised his head.

“Cas,” he said again. “That’s what Dean calls you, right? Do you need me to get Dean?”

Dean. Yes, Castiel wanted Dean to come back; wanted Dean to take him away from this place where humans hated and feared him. He wanted to go back to the sturdy old farmhouse… back to the lounger chair on the porch and the bees in the honeysuckle bush. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and this place that forced him to remember each life he’d destroyed in vivid detail, and the new, and seemingly endless mantra of names as they paraded through his head.

_Cal Garrigan, Lester Morris, Bill Gibson, Jeremy Frost, Evan Hudson… and so many more who had yet to be named._

Benny sat back on his heels.

“I’m going to get Dean,” he said.

“No,” said Castiel, forcing the word out. He’d already caused enough trouble for Dean. He didn’t want to add to it by interrupting his meeting with his captain.

Benny hesitated.

“Please,” said Castiel, “I’m fine.” He looked around the room, expecting to hear more accusations or arguing from Henrickson, but the room was empty save himself and Benny.

“Victor went to the infirmary,” said Benny. “He’s not coming back.”

Castiel nodded to show he understood and cautiously pushed away from the wall, climbing slowly to his feet. Benny reached out a hand to steady him when he stumbled.

“Don’t,” said Castiel, before Benny could make contact. Benny took a step back and righted Castiel’s chair. Castiel dropped into it gratefully, weak from the unintentional use of his grace.

“Hey, guys, sorry it took so long,” came Dean’s voice from the hallway. “Bobby’ll talk your ear off, especially when he’s pissed.” Dean’s eyes widened as he entered the room.

“Cas!” he exclaimed. “Shit, Benny, what happened to him?”

“I’m fine,” said Castiel.

“The hell you are! Benny—“

“I had to step out of the room for a moment, and it seems as though Castiel and Victor had a little bit of a disagreement. I’m pretty sure Victor was to blame—“

“Of course Victor is to blame! He’s had it in for Cas since the moment we found him in that cell. And you fucking left Cas alone with him!” Dean rounded on Castiel.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Castiel reached for the binder that had been discarded during the commotion. He found the page he’d been on and, avoiding Evan Hudson’s photo, began scanning the rest of the pictures.

“I said I was fine, Dean.”

“Cas—“

  
“I need to do this,” said Castiel, his heart sinking as he recognized another picture on that same page. He glanced at the stack of binders that he had yet to look through at his elbow, and thought about what Henrickson had said about him never being able being able to redeem himself for what he’d done. Castiel squared his shoulders. He’d do what he could, at least. He caught Benny’s eye and pointed to the photo he’d recognized.

******

“Are you listening to me, Cas?” said Dean, halfway through their drive home from the police station later that afternoon.

Castiel jumped a little, and raised his head from where he’d been leaning it against the passenger window. Truth be told, he hadn’t been listening to Dean. He’d been concentrating on the names.

_Cal Garrigan, Lester Morris, Bill Gibson, Jeremy Frost, Evan Hudson, George Darrow, Silva Pearlman, Sean Boyden--_

“Cas!”

“Yes, Dean?”

“I want to talk to you about what Bobby told me today.”

“Alright,” said Castiel, once again resting his head on the window. His exhausted body seemed incapable of sitting upright, and the cool glass helped to dull the ache in his head.

_Cal Garrigan, Lester Morris, Bill Gibson, Jeremy Frost—_

“Okay, Cas, are you paying attention?”

“Yes.”

“Long story short, people have heard about Crowley using you to commit murders for him. And they’ve heard that you were rescued when we searched Crowley’s mansion. I’m pretty sure Henrickson was behind that information leak, but Bobby can’t prove anything, so of course, nothing’s going to happen to him. Anyway, people are scared. They think you’re going to go all Terminator and start smiting people left and right. They… they’re petitioning to have you executed, Cas.”

“Angels who perpetrate violence upon humans have no place in society,” recited Castiel, just as he’d been taught by Mary on his very first day of training.

“That wasn’t you,” said Dean. “That was Crowley _using_ you. You don’t deserve to die because of what he did to you.”

_And nothing that Dean says about you is ever going to convince me that you do not pose a danger to humans every second that you’re around them._

Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he recalled Henrickson’s words, and what had happened seconds later. He raised his right hand and rotated it palm up. He’d taken so many lives using that hand to channel his power. There had been 113 names on Benny’s list by the time Castiel had finished looking through all of the binders. 113 souls that had been extinguished with a simple touch. 113 families destroyed. And he’d nearly added to that number without even realizing it when Henrickson had pushed him.

“Dean, this may be for the best,” said Castiel, interrupting Dean mid-sentence.

“No, Cas. We’ve been over this,” said Dean. “Killing you is not for the best. The policy is shit. Under the current law, the most we could get Crowley for is conspiracy to commit murder. Conspiracy! That’s all an owner can be charged for if he uses an angel as a weapon. Meanwhile, the angel is put to death for something he or she couldn’t even control. That’s fucked up, and we’re going to fight it. I’m not letting them kill you, Cas.”

“The law is flawed,” agreed Castiel, “But maybe your efforts would be better spent on preventing further incidents rather than dwelling on what has already happened. I do not wish to put more humans at risk.”

“And how does saving your life put humans at risk?” said Dean.

Castiel folded his hands in his lap, unable to look at them anymore.

“Victor Henrickson,” he said softly, “I injured him today.”

“Henrickon’s a dick.”

“Nevertheless.”

“It was self-defense, Cas. Even Benny said so. It was a self-preservation reflex, just like when you healed when you cut yourself shaving this morning.”

“This is different,” said Castiel. “I could have killed him.”

“But you didn’t,” said Dean, taking his eyes off the road for an instant to glance over at Castiel. “You stopped. And that’s what we’re going to tell the head of the council.”

“The council?”

Dean rolled his eyes and smacked the steering wheel with the heel of his hand.

“I knew you weren’t listening. Your case is going to be brought before a council of angel experts. The head of the council, Chuck Shurley, is going to deliver a verdict. But don’t worry. You’ve got the best lawyer in the business. There’s no way they’re going to execute you with Sammy handling your defense.”

Dean maneuvered the Impala up the dirt driveway and parked in front of the house. The two of them sat in the car and listened to the engine ticking as it cooled.

“I don’t want to further inconvenience Sam,” said Castiel, at last. “He’s done so much already. You both have.”

“He wants to do it,” said Dean. “It’s not an inconvenience. We owe you.”

Castiel sighed, and looked down at his clasped hands.

“Neither of you owe me anything,” he said. “Both of you have sacrificed enough on account of this. Of me. I’m just an angel, Dean. It took me a long time to fully understand that. You need to as well.”

“That’s a load of crap, Cas.”

“No, Dean. That’s just the way things are.”

Castiel pushed the car door open and stepped out. The late afternoon sun was warm, and Castiel could see the bees swarming near the honeysuckle bush. He turned in that direction and inhaled deeply, enjoying the faint flowery scent upon the air.

“Did you know that honey bees have 170 odorant receptors?” said Castiel.

“This conversation isn’t over,” said Dean. “You can’t just—“

“Mosquitos only have 79.”

“Cas. The trial. Focus. Sam and Sarah are going to come over tomorrow, and we’re going to work on your defense.”

_Cal Garrigan, Lester Morris, Bill Gibson, Jeremy Frost, Evan Hudson, George Darrow, Silva Pearlman, Sean Boyden_ … Castiel closed his eyes and tried to push the names away. Bees. That’s what he’d been thinking about. Bees. Bees were good. Bees were peaceful, one of nature’s true miracles. Bees were safe. Castiel focused harder on the honeysuckle and said,

“A honey bee’s sense of smell is so remarkable that it can tell if a flower carries nectar or pollen from yards away. A bee can also identify hundreds of varieties of flowers, simply by smell. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Fascinating,” said Dean.

Castiel looked at Dean over his shoulder.

“I’ve said all I’m going to about the trial,” he said. “I will go and watch the bees, now.”

_******_

_“I just need more time.”_

_The fear in the man’s voice broke through the haze of Castiel’s mind, and as the man tracked Master’s movement, his eyes met Castiel’s when Master stepped behind him. The man’s name was Jeremy Frost. Castiel didn’t know how he knew this, but he was sure that the name belonged to the wild-eyed man before him, just as he was sure that it was his duty to destroy the man when Master gave his signal._

_“You’ve had plenty of time. You knew the consequences.” Master’s voice sounded from somewhere beyond Castiel’s right shoulder. Master’s fingers lovingly caressed the collar around Castiel’s neck, and Castiel’s skin prickled at the feel of Master’s breath teasing the tender flesh beneath the leather._

_The collar fell away, and Castiel moved forward. Jeremy Frost backed away. Castiel matched him step for step, and extended his hand. Jeremy Frost gave a feral sounding yell at the last second, and withdrew an angel blade from the pocket of his jacket. Castiel wasn’t used to his victims being so well prepared, and though he reflexively pivoted away from the blade, he failed to take into account his manifested wings._

_The movement brought them directly in range, and Jeremy Frost brought the blade down hard, ripping through the flesh of the left wing, directly into Castiel’s grace. Castiel cried out and tried to wrench his wing away from the heat of the blade. He succeeded only in tearing it further, and collapsed, rolling away as soon as he felt his wing rip free. His only thought was that he was being attacked._

“Hey, man, it’s just a nightmare.”

Castiel’s eyes flew open to find strong hands pinning him down. His wings burned, and in the darkness, Castile couldn’t make out the identity of the human looming over him. Castiel twisted from side to side, frantically trying to free himself. How had this happened? Where was Master? He finally managed to bring up both hands and he shoved his attacker hard. The human flew across the room and crashed into the bookshelf on the far wall, landing in a heap on the floor.

Castiel struggled to his feet, the air cool on his bare neck, just as the bookshelf teetered and toppled over onto the man. Castiel seized his advantage and strode across the room. He had a job to do and he needed to finish it before Master got angry.

Castiel grabbed the wooden frame of the bookshelf and tossed it aside. The man struggled to his knees, emerging from the bottom of the pile of books with one hand pressed against a gash on his temple. Castiel’s hand closed over the man’s shirt collar, and he yanked him to his feet.

“Stop!” panted the man. Castiel wasn’t supposed to listen to pleas for mercy… Master didn’t like it. He was supposed to smite this man here and now before he could escape or start to fight again. But… Castiel hesitated. Something felt strange. Different.

The man curled his fingers over Castiel’s wrist, attempting to break his hold. Castiel flung the man away from him once again, watching impassively as he smacked into the wall. The man’s knees buckled, and his fingers scrabbled along the smooth surface as he fought to remain upright.

Castiel approached, slow, this time, his hand outstretched.

“Don’t do this,” moaned the man as he slid a few inches down the wall. “Please. It’s me.”

Castiel paused. The voice was not Master’s, but it was familiar, somehow. _It shouldn’t matter,_ Castiel told himself. He knew his orders… he knew what he had to do. He crossed the room with new purpose. The man flung out a hand in a desperate attempt to defend himself, but Castiel was faster. He gripped the man’s wrist and twisted, not reacting to the sickening crack of bone or the man’s resultant scream.

Castiel raised his hand to smite.

“This isn’t you,” said the man, between pained wheezes. “You don’t… belong to him anymore, Cas. You… don’t have to do this.”

Castiel came back to himself with a gasp. Dean stood before him, leaning against the wall for support, his face bloodied and his wrist bent at an unnatural angle.

“Dean,” said Castiel in a hoarse whisper. “What happened?” He took in the mussed bedding, the jumble of books on the floor, and the remains of the bookcase at the foot of the bed.

“No,” said Castiel, as the realization dawned. “No no no no….”

Dean pushed away from the wall and managed a shaky step before his legs gave way. Castiel caught him before he could hit the floor and gently maneuvered the both of them to sit against the wall.

“I… did this,” sputtered Castiel, barely able to form the words. Dean still seemed a little dazed, but he managed to focus his eyes on Castiel’s.

“Not your fault,” said Dean.

“I nearly killed you,” said Castiel. He shifted position and lightly probed Dean’s injured arm. Dean hissed a breath through his teeth. Castiel carefully replaced the injured limb in Dean’s lap.

“Please,” he said, “Let me—“ He reached a hand toward Dean’s forehead. Dean reared back.

“Cas, no. It’s nothing serious; I’ll be fine.” Castiel ignored him. Dean leaned farther away, but wasn’t able to move much under his own power.

“Cas, dammit, don’t you dare—“

Castiel pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead and concentrated, healing the obvious injuries like the fractured wrist, the bruises, and the scalp laceration; as well as the hidden ones… the concussion, the cracked ribs, and the internal contusions. Castiel didn’t stop until Dean was completely healthy, even going so far as to take away the minor aches and pains that were part and parcel of Dean’s years on the police force.

When at last his hand fell away, Castiel dimly became aware of Dean calling his name before everything went dark.

******

A low voice was the first thing Castiel perceived as he clawed his way back to consciousness. He couldn’t quite make out words; everything seemed garbled at first. Gradually, he began to understand what was being said.

“… stupid son of a bitch, you should know better than to try and use your mojo when you’re not at full power. You can’t even claim that was a reflex… I saw you thinking about it before you even moved your hand.”

Castiel felt the carpeted floor beneath his back. His head was elevated, and pillowed on something softer. Dean’s thigh, he realized. Fingers carded through his hair. Castiel tried to prise his eyelids open, but they felt heavy, and he was so very tired. His eyelids were nothing compared to the two-ton weight that was his head, but he tried to lift it nevertheless. He must have made some small movement, because Dean’s hand left his hair and began tapping at his cheek.

“Cas… Cas, hey. Come back. Open your eyes, buddy, come on.”

A quiet moan escaped Castiel’s lips, and he struggled to do as Dean had asked. He finally succeeded in raising his eyelids halfway. He felt, as well as heard, Dean’s relieved exhale.

“Man, you were out. Welcome back.”

Castiel’s eyes found Dean’s and he took in his worried gaze for a moment before the memory of what had just happened hit him with the force of a punch. His horrified brain sent a pulse of adrenalin to the rest of his body, and Castiel sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Dean in the head.

“Angel blade,” Castiel managed to groan before his stomach clenched, sending him scrambling for the trashcan. As he hadn’t eaten anything since the slice of pie Dean had given him the previous evening, nothing came up, but he continued to dry heave while his stomach cramped.

Dean crouched beside him and rubbed a hand down his back. Castiel flinched away, cracking his head against the wall and closing his eyes at the burst of pain inside his skull.

“Your blade,” said Castiel. “Dean, you have to get your blade.”

Dean didn’t move any closer to Castiel, but he didn’t leave to collect the angel blade either.

“You have to do it now,” said Castiel. He used the wall to lever himself back to his feet when he saw that Dean wasn’t moving.

“I’m not doing it at all,” said Dean. “Cas, it was a nightmare. You were confused.”

“It doesn’t matter!” burst out Castiel, and that exclamation drained what little energy he had and he found himself sliding back toward the floor. This time it was Dean who lunged forward and gathered Castiel in his arms.

“It doesn’t matter,” moaned Castiel against Dean’s shoulder. “I’m _broken_. He made me into this… this monster and I’m not safe. I _told_ you this. I told you….”

Dean tightened his arms around Castiel’s back, his supportive hold morphing into an embrace.

“That’s not true,” said Dean. “You held back. Even when you were convinced that you were still under Crowley’s control you held back. You could have smited… smitted…”

“Smote,” muttered Castiel, his face still buried in Dean’s T-shirt.

“Smote,” repeated Dean. “You could have smote me in a second, but you didn’t. You held back, and then you _stopped_. You stopped all on your own.”

“I don’t want to hurt people anymore. And I hurt you, Dean.”

Dean gripped Castiel by the shoulders and held him at arm’s length so that they were able to see one another’s faces.

“You stopped,” Dean said again, his green eyes earnest, as though he felt that if he repeated the phrase often enough Castiel would magically agree with him. Castiel looked away. Dean sighed.

“We’ll talk about this more in the morning,” said Dean. “Let’s get you back to bed. You’re about to fall over.”

“No!” said Castiel, panic giving him a surge of energy. He didn’t want to go back to sleep, didn’t want to go back to the bed. What if it happened again? What if he couldn’t control himself this time?

Dean seemed to understand what Castiel was trying to convey with just that one word, and he adjusted his grip, placing Castiel’s arm over his shoulders and snaking an arm around Castiel’s waist.

“Okay,” he said. “If you don’t want to go back to bed, that’s fine. But you at least need to sit down. Think you can make it down the stairs?”

Castiel nodded.

“Good,” said Dean. “We’ll just hang out on the couch for a little bit, how about that? We can watch a movie or something.”

“Alright,” said Castiel. He concentrated on staying upright, on putting one foot in front of the other, all the way to the bottom of the stairs, where his strength finally left him.

“Okay, here we go,” said Dean, and fitted his other arm beneath Castiel’s knees. He hefted him into the air, and though Castiel wanted to protest, he found it was all he could do to keep his head from flopping down onto his chest. He felt his face heat up at the indignity of being carried in such a manner by a human. But then, he was no stranger to humiliation, and he’d certainly endured worse at the hands of humans. Thankfully, the journey from the foot of the stairs to the living room was a short one.

“Dude, you weigh a fucking ton,” grunted Dean as he deposited Castiel onto the couch.

The first floor was cooler than the upstairs had been, and the combination of the temperature change and the exhaustion had Castiel shivering. Dean pulled a brightly colored knitted blanket off of the back of the couch and tucked it in and around Castiel. He then slipped a DVD into the player and plopped down on the couch.

“Dr. Sexy MD,” he said, hitting the play button on the remote. “No better distraction out there than a good old Dr. Sexy marathon.”

“Mmmm,” murmured Castiel, his eyelids already drooping. He forced himself to sit up straighter in an attempt to stay awake. He wasn’t sure if he managed to voice his question about whether it was standard practice for human doctors to wear cowboy boots to work, or if he just thought it before the darkness claimed him.

******

It was, once again, the sound of Dean’s voice that woke Castiel. That, and a heavy weight on Castiel’s shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Dean slumped against him.

“Don’t,” mumbled Dean, his eyelids and fingers twitching, obviously very deeply asleep.

Castiel kept very still, unsure of how to react in such a situation. This wasn’t the first time that Dean had fallen asleep on him, of course. Such occurrences had been commonplace during their childhood. This was, however, the first time he seemed to be distressed.

“Cas, please. Don’t.”

Castiel felt that Dean had to be dreaming of the attack from earlier, and his first instinct was to flee. Unfortunately, he was trapped between Dean and the arm of the couch, and found that he was still too weak to effectively extricate himself. He took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh, trying to decide his next best course of action. His decision was made for him when Dean shuddered against him and let out what could only be described as a whimper. He couldn’t just leave him to suffer like that.

“Dean,” whispered Castiel. “Dean, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

He held himself stiffly, waiting for Dean to open his eyes and panic at Castiel’s proximity. Dean didn’t wake, but he shifted a little closer to Castiel and locked his arms around Castiel’s waist. He was close enough, now, that Castiel could feel the fine tremors running up and down his body and the gooseflesh that had risen on his bare arms. Of course. It was cold in the living room, and Castiel was wrapped up in the only blanket.

“Wake up, Dean,” said Castiel again as he managed to free a corner of the blanket and awkwardly flip it over Dean’s legs. The triangle of fabric didn’t really offer much in the way of cover, and Castiel was at a loss for what to do.

“Dean.” Castiel spoke a little louder, and was rewarded when Dean’s eyes lazily fluttered open.

“Y’er still here, Cas,” he slurred, his eyes drifting shut again. That had definitely not been the reaction Castiel had been expecting.

“Yes, I’m here, Dean,” he said. Dean’s response was to burrow closer still.

“Good,” mumbled Dean, and Castiel realized that he was only half awake, if that.

“ ‘s cold in here, Cas.”

“Yes,” said Castiel. “I am trying to give you some of the blanket but….” Castiel tugged fruitlessly at the blanket, stopping only when he heard it snag on something and rip. Meanwhile, Dean continued to shiver beside him, occasionally muttering broken phrases, all of which seemed to involve Castiel. Castiel tried several more times to wake Dean, with no success.

“Okay,” said Castiel, after his last failed attempt. He shrugged the blanket off of his shoulders, closed his eyes, and concentrated. His wings materialized with a soft rustle of feathers. Castiel hissed a pained breath as he maneuvered the still tender appendages, but he could feel that the wounds had healed more, and that the new feather growth was thick and healthy. Castiel cocooned Dean in the circle of his wings. Dean snuggled in and tucked his head beneath Castiel’s chin.

“Wings,” muttered Dean. “Like your wings, Cas. Warm.”

“I know,” said Castiel. “Get some sleep, now, Dean.”

Castiel hadn’t thought it possible for Dean to curl even closer, but he was fast being proven wrong.

“Don’t,” said Dean again. Castiel closed his eyes, but that didn’t stop the memory of what he'd just done to Dean from replaying over and over.

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel.

“Don’t… give up. Can’t let ‘em win. Need you, Cas. ‘Yer family.”

Castiel’s wings twitched in surprise at Dean’s words. Ever since his rescue, Castiel had been focused mainly on his own guilt, and how much he dreaded being around humans. He hadn’t given much thought to Dean at all, other than to regret the amount of trouble he’d been causing both of the Winchesters. Deep down, he’d thought that, in the end, his execution would wind up being a blessing in disguise for the brothers.

Castiel sighed. He couldn’t fathom why Dean would say such things… couldn’t understand how a human could possibly see an angel as family. Castiel’s family had all been torn from him when he’d been so young that he couldn’t even remember most of them anymore, save Gabriel. Castiel had always felt a strong bond with Sam and Dean, even when he’d been a fledgling, but he’d never dreamed that there would be even an approximation of reciprocation of those feelings.

“Dean,” began Castiel.

“Gotta fight ‘em, Cas. Can’t lose you again. Gotta fight.”

And that was that. For Castiel had always felt protective over the Winchesters. And though he’d always had difficulty following orders, he’d found it equally difficult to deny a request from Sam or Dean. Especially Dean. Even if it was against his better judgment. Even if he felt it was a mistake.

Castiel dropped his head down and pressed his lips into Dean’s hair.

“Okay, Dean,” he said. “I’ll fight.”

As soon as Castiel said the words, he felt Dean finally relax into deep sleep.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again that this one was late, guys!

Chapter 6

Dean opened his eyes the next morning and saw only black. He inhaled sharply in surprise, and was nearly overwhelmed by the scent of rain and pine trees. It was a scent he hadn’t been exposed to in decades, but he recognized it instantly, and realized at the same time that the blackness obscuring his vision was feathers. Castiel’s wings were wrapped tightly around Dean, enveloping him in the angelic version of a down comforter.

Too stunned to move, Dean lay still, fighting to keep his breathing normal as feather tips tickled the back of his neck. His eyes focused, and he was able to pick out individual feathers from the shining mass in front of him. Some were obviously new, fast growing to cover the bare patches left by Crowley’s abuse. No longer dull and tattered, the sleek and glossy feathers were proof that Castiel’s grace was alive and well within him; and it was easy to see why there was so little of it to spare when Castiel attempted to use it for other things.

Dean tore his eyes away from Castiel’s wings as he became aware of the scratchy knitted material of the blanket he’d covered Castiel with beneath his cheek. What the hell… had he actually fallen asleep on Castiel? Were his arms really wrapped around the angel’s waist and his head tucked in the crook of Castiel’s neck? Dean’s immediate thought was to back away, but he resisted the urge. The slow rise and fall of Castiel’s chest indicated that he was still asleep, and Dean was reluctant to wake him.

He lay with his head resting on Castiel’s blanket covered chest and marveled at the angel’s ability to heal, and not just the physical wounds. After everything he’d been through at Crowley’s hands, and even through Dean’s clumsy attempts at wound care, here Castiel was, sleeping peacefully with his wings out in the open and in contact with a human. Castiel had come so far in just a few days… how could he not see that? How could he still believe that his own death would be for the best?

Dean sighed in frustration, remembering Castiel’s desperate pleas for Dean to use the angel blade on him, and his broken insistence that he was monster. Castiel’s wing twitched, the feathers lightly brushing over Dean’s brow. Unable to resist, Dean lifted a hand and, careful not to disturb Castiel further, cautiously smoothed it over the small feathers that grew over the part of the wing that rested on Dean’s shoulder. To his surprise the feathers fluffed up at the touch, and Castiel made a pleased humming sound, though his eyes remained firmly closed and his face, slack.

Rolling his eyes to get a better view of the wing but still avoid moving his head, Dean repeated the motion. The feathers were impossibly soft and, in addition to their continued fluffing, the wing itself seemed to be pushing up and into Dean’s hand.

Dean continued to gently pet Castiel’s wing, smiling at the way the entire limb responded to every movement, until he felt Castiel start to stir. Dean lifted his head, and found blue eyes blinking at him in sleepy confusion. A contended smile spread over Castiel’s features, softening the lines of his face.

Without thinking, and in an act of pure impulsivity, Dean angled his head and pressed a light kiss to Castiel’s jaw, just beyond the dip of his chin. Castiel’s eyes widened past the point that Dean would have thought possible, and Dean opened his mouth to say something… an explanation or an apology, or some combination of the two… but nothing came out. They stared at each other unmoving, the only sound in the room coming from the grandfather clock in the corner as it steadily ticked away seconds.

“Dean,” said Castiel uncertainly, after an unknown amount of time, and Dean’s trance was broken. He pushed away from Castiel and tried to lever himself off of the couch. Castiel attempted to pull himself upright at the same time, and the movement knocked Dean off balance and sent him careening into the back of the couch… and directly on top of Castiel’s wing.

Castiel let out a strangled cry, the blanket slipping off of his chest, but Dean was more alarmed by the way the color drained from his face and the way every muscle in his body went rigid. Dean struggled to move off of the wing, but he found that he was trapped between Castiel and the back of the couch, and he couldn’t figure out a way to free himself without hurting Castiel even more.

Castiel drew in a ragged breath and closed his eyes. An instant later, his wings disappeared. Dean managed to pull himself up and away and roll onto his feet.

“Shit,” he said. “Did I break something?”

“No,” said Castiel. “I was just startled. Please, do not worry.”

His pale, sweaty face and pinched expression told another story. Dean couldn’t bear the thought of having reinjured Castiel’s wings, and he was about to ask again just to be sure when an odd expression passed over Castiel’s features. Castiel raised a hand and rested his fingers on his lower jaw, right where Dean had kissed him.

“Dean,” he began, but Dean backed away. He absolutely could not have this conversation with Castiel.

“Well, if you’re okay,” said Dean, “I have to… I have to go shower. Before Sam gets here.”

He fled the room before Castiel could say anything more, ran up the stairs, and barricaded himself in the bathroom. Dean leaned against the locked door and blew out the breath he’d been holding for what felt like forever.

_What the fuck was that?_ He’d kissed Castiel. He’d kissed Castiel without warning or permission, and then had run away before Castiel could react in any way other than shock.

“Dammit,” muttered Dean. How was he any better than the abusive owners he worked against every day? How was Castiel ever going to really trust him again if he kept… _assaulting_ him almost every time they interacted?

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he said to the empty room. He knew that he should man up and go back down there and make sure Castiel was okay, and apologize directly to him instead of the bathroom wall, but he just couldn’t face him, yet. Not when Dean himself was still blushing and stammering like a goddamn teenager.

Dean crossed the room and slapped the shower curtain aside before turning the water on and adjusting the temperature. Sam was due to arrive later in the morning, and Dean knew he couldn’t hide away in the bathroom all day, no matter how guilty and humiliated he felt. He shed his T-shirt and sleep pants and stepped under the spray.

Dean had expected to feel a little sore, at least, after what had happened the previous night, but other than a crick in his neck from sleeping at an odd angle, he felt fine. Castiel had gone overboard on the healing, the idiot. He’d wasted precious grace relieving Dean of aching muscles when he should have been using it for more important things like continuing to heal his wings.

The wings were certainly looking much better, though, Dean admitted to himself as he went to work with the bar of soap. The areas of new feather growth were glaringly obvious, but the new feathers themselves looked sleek and shiny. All of the feathers looked so much better than they had that horrible evening when Castiel had nearly died, just before Sam had removed the collar. Had that really only been two days ago? It felt as though it had been a month, at least.

In an effort to push the image of those broken and battered wings from his mind, Dean thought back to how Castiel had looked that morning; sound asleep on the couch with his healing, healthy wings wrapped tightly around Dean. Dean thought about how the feathers had felt so warm and familiar against his skin, and how Castiel’s pleased little hums in response to Dean’s touches had made Dean ridiculously happy.

And speaking of ridiculously happy… Dean looked down at his half hard cock. Great. That was the last thing he needed. And just from thinking about Castiel. No. That couldn’t be it. He was in the shower with soap lathered all over his body and warm water completely surrounding him. It was a perfectly natural reaction. He’d just ignore it. He’d ignore it and it would go away.

Except… he did have to wash down there. And maybe relieving a little tension would do him good. Make it a little less awkward when he finally had to go back downstairs and actually talk to Castiel. Dean reached down and took hold of himself. All right. He’d do it. And he most certainly was not going to be thinking of Castiel. Absolutely not.

Dean choked back a groan as he stroked himself, his cock responding to the soapy slip slide of his hand. Shit. What if Castiel’d heard him? He couldn’t have. The noise of the shower would have covered up whatever sounds Dean had made. He hadn’t been that loud. And Castiel was all the way downstairs. It wasn’t like he was pressed up against the bathroom, door, straining to hear what was happening inside. Dean bit back another groan, his cock throbbing as he pictured Castiel standing just outside the door. Nope, this wasn’t working at all.     

Dean mentally shifted through his considerable spank bank of images. Dr. Sexy! Dr. Sexy had certainly done the trick before. Dean closed his eyes and gave himself a squeeze, picturing Dr. Sexy’s toned and tanned body… his cowboy boots… that white lab coat. Fuck, white lab coats were sexy as hell. Dean’s hand started to move faster, and he continued to focus on that white coat, the cowboy boots, an unruly mop of dark hair, and piercing blue eyes… dammit!

Something else, then. Dean gritted his teeth, his strokes becoming more erratic as his breathing stuttered. He was getting close; he just needed a little more to push him over the edge. His thoughts drifted to that hot yoga instructor at the gym… Lisa, that was her name. She was bendy as fuck, too. That would work for sure.

A soft moan escaped Dean’s lips as he relived the memory of watching Lisa at work… the impossible contortions in which she managed to twist her lithe frame… and the way he could see down her top when she went into Warrior pose. He thought of Lisa’s intensity, and let out a shaky breath as he lost himself in the fantasy. There was one gravity-defying pose she did where she was essentially upside down, her head pressed to the floor, and her arms and legs positioned in such a way that had Dean transfixed. God, that pose was hot. What was it called?

Dean’s thumb brushed over the tip of his cock, smearing precome into the mix of soap and water. He was right at the edge, and he was trying to remember the name of a friggin’ yoga pose? What the hell was wrong with him? And then it came to him. Lisa had called the pose Fallen Angel.

And there was Castiel in Dean’s head again, standing tall and strong, his wings held high and his eyes blazing. Dean couldn’t hold back his cry as he came, shooting thick ropes of come onto the tile walls of the shower.

******

It was quite some time before Dean managed to work up the nerve to go back downstairs. He found Castiel in the kitchen frowning over the coffee maker. Several covered pans rested on the stove, the burners turned on low. As he drew closer, Dean identified scrambled eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes.

“What’s this?” he asked in surprise.

“I believe breakfast is the term,” said Castiel. “Though it has been awhile since I’ve done this. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it looks great,” said Dean. “It’s just….” He trailed off. He didn’t want Castiel cooking for him; didn’t want him acting the part of a traditional slave. Did Castiel really think that was what was expected of him?

“Dean?”

Dean looked up to find Castiel peering at him intently, cradling the tin of coffee grounds in his hands. 

“Did you hear what I just said?” asked Castiel.

Dean shook his head.

“I said that I was unfamiliar with this particular model of coffee maker. Are there instructions somewhere?”

Dean took the tin from Castiel and motioned to the table.

“Here, Cas, why don’t you sit down and I’ll deal with the coffee, okay?” he said.

Castiel didn’t move.

“I can assure you that I’m perfectly capable of making the coffee, Dean. If you would just explain to me—“

“No,” interrupted Dean. “I said I’d do it.”

Dean turned away from Castiel and began fiddling with the filter. He dumped a generous amount of coffee grounds inside and filled the reservoir with water. The coffee pot made a satisfying clatter as it slid into place, and Dean smiled to himself as he flipped the switch and the machine gurgled to life. The sound never failed to put Dean in a better mood. It was a textbook Pavolovian response, but that bit of knowledge didn’t lessen Dean’s enjoyment of the process.

He looked away from the coffee maker and saw that Castiel, instead of sitting at the table, had moved on to sweeping the kitchen floor. Dean’s face fell.

“Stop!” he said, a little too sharply.

Castiel didn’t look up from his task.

“Stop what?”

“Acting like a slave,” said Dean.

Castiel stilled, and leaned on the broom handle.

“I am a slave,” he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dean looked away.

“You never used to act like one,” he muttered. “And you’re not… I don’t see you that way.”

“But the rest of the world does,” said Castiel. “It took me a long time to accept it, but I understand, now. You and your father were right in telling me so. I was just too stubborn to listen.”

“No,” said Dean. “We were wrong. That’s what I’ve been trying to get through to you. Angels…”

“Were created to serve man,” supplied Castiel. “It was a sacred covenant decreed by my Father. We were given our powers with the understanding that they would be used for the protection and benefit of humankind. And I’ve broken that covenant, Dean. All those years with Master. Yesterday at the police station. And last night. Most of all, last night.”

Dean shook his head.

“Cas, last night—“

“I broke your wrist. Threw you into a wall. Nearly smote you.”

“But that wasn’t…”

Castiel set the broom aside and raised a hand. Dean stopped speaking.

“I know that you don’t blame me,” said Castiel. “And I am grateful. But I’m also concerned that the… affection we had for each other when we were young has impaired your ability to see things logically. Last night you told me that you saw me as family. You said that you didn’t want to lose me again.”

“I did?” Dean certainly didn’t remember that. But then, he didn’t remember wrapping himself around Castiel like a two dollar hooker and snuggling into a wing blanket either.

“You did,” said Castiel. “And it’s not right for a human to hold an angel in such regard. I said that I would go along with the contesting of the decision to execute me because you asked me to…”

Dean didn’t remember that, either, but he was too relieved to question it. He’d been worried about what would happen when Sam and Sarah showed up if Castiel refused to cooperate. Castiel’s willingness to fight for his life, for whatever reason, would make Sam’s job that much easier. Dean was starting to feel like they might have a chance at this after all. He belatedly realized that Castiel was still talking, and refocused his attention.

“… which is why I think it best if we revert back to more traditional roles. It would set a good example for the council, and it would also help me to keep my… issues… under control. So please,” Castiel nudged one of the stools, “sit down, and I’ll serve you breakfast.”

Oh hell no. No way was Dean just going to sit there and let Castiel serve him his meals like that. Dean crossed his arms over his chest. Castiel stood calmly next to the stool, his eyes appropriately downcast. The sight of Castiel looking so subservient was nauseating. This was almost as bad as Castiel, delirious from pain and drugs, mindlessly pawing at Dean’s boxers. That had been terrible, but Castiel had been completely out of it. Here, Castiel was awake and lucid and acting as though his sole purpose in life was to cater to Dean’s every whim.

It was like Dean was standing before a stranger. Dean wanted grab Castiel by the shoulders and shake him, to ask what had happened to Castiel’s will, what had happened to the angel who’d claimed to be incapable of spending a lifetime in servitude, who had no problems disregarding any order that didn’t suit him, who thought nothing of standing up to the likes of John Winchester, even knowing that the effort would be futile.

Dean didn’t ask any of his questions, because he already knew the answers. Castiel’s rebelliousness had been stomped out of him over twenty years of torture and abuse. No one could come out of that unchanged, Dean knew that. He wasn’t about to stand by, though, and let Castiel demean himself.

“Dean,” said Castiel, interrupting Dean’s musings, “The food will get cold.”

Dean cleared his throat.

“Well, Cas, here’s the thing,” he said. “Since, as you pointed out, I’m the human, and I own the house, it’s only fair that I make the rules. And there’s been a pretty ironclad policy in effect for years. And that policy is that angels are prohibited from doing any housework here.”

There was the briefest flash of familiar insolence in Castiel’s eyes.

“If you don’t believe me, you can ask Gabriel the next time you see him,” continued Dean. “Gabe was here for weeks and didn’t lift a finger. I haven’t had angel help since I bought the place.”

Dean waited for Castiel to respond. Castiel started to answer, but cut himself off before he could make a sound. He closed his eyes and swayed where he stood, placing a hand on the flat seat of the stool to steady himself.

“You okay?” asked Dean.

“I’m fine,” said Castiel. “Just a little lightheaded.”

“You need to eat,” said Dean. “You didn’t have anything at all yesterday, did you?”

Castiel started to shake his head, stopping as the movement caused him to sway further to the side. He gripped the stool with both hands and attempted to regain his footing.

“Sit down,” said Dean, grabbing a plate and heaping it with food from the three pans. He poured a cup of coffee and placed everything on the table in front of Castiel.

“Bon Appetit.”

Dean tried not to hover as Castiel gingerly lowered himself onto the stool, wincing as he attempted to sit up straight.

“Cas,” he said, worried. “Are you sure you’re okay? Is it your wing? Did I make it worse by falling on it?”

“I just overdid it, I think,” said Castiel. “Do not concern yourself.”

Dean wasn’t convinced. He fixed himself a plate of food and a cup of coffee and joined Castiel at the table. After watching Castiel for a few seconds to reassure himself that the angel didn’t seem to be in immediate danger, Dean turned his attention to his meal. He moaned with pleasure around the first forkful.

“This is awesome,” said Dean around a mouthful of potatoes. “It reminds me of Mom’s cooking.”

“You mean Hester’s,” said Castiel. “She’s the one who did all of the cooking. She taught me.”

Dean hadn’t really thought about it before. Mary had always made a big production of disappearing into the kitchen for meal preparation, but, now that Dean thought about it, it wouldn’t have made any sense for her to actually be cooking. More than likely she’d have supervised the trainees’ progress and left the actual work to Hester.

“Well, I’ll have to remember to thank Hester the next time I see her,” said Dean. “But I meant it when I said that you aren’t to do this anymore. I do my own cooking and cleaning. I’ve never had an angel do it, and I never will.”

Castiel simply nodded and went back to methodically eating his way around his plate, first a bite of eggs, then potatoes, then a bit of bacon, a sip of coffee, and back to the beginning. The two of them ate in silence, and Dean had nearly finished before Castiel spoke again.

“Is there anything you would allow me to do for you?” he asked. “Yard work, perhaps? Maintenance of the dorms? Although… I fear I wouldn’t be of too much use in that area until my grace has recovered more.”

Dean shook his head, his mouth too full to speak. Castiel set his fork down and took a deep breath.

“Perhaps I could—“

“You’re not going to be doing anything, Cas. Just get better.”

Instead of looking relieved, as Dean had expected, Castiel’s features tightened in frustration.

“You and your brother have done so much for me, and are going to continue to do so at great risk to your careers and livelihoods during the course of this trial. I can’t just sit here and—“

“You’re not just sitting here, you’re healing,” said Dean. “You don’t have to work, or earn your keep, or whatever you want to call it. We’re your _friends_. You’re like family to Sam and me. How many more times do I have to say it?”

“You need to stop saying it,” said Castiel.

Dean nearly choked on the sip of coffee he’d taken. Castiel ignored him and kept talking.

“I keep telling you it’s not right. It was different when we were young, things were more simple back then, but you of all people should know that angels and humans cannot be friends. You _own_ me. I am not your family, Dean; I am your _property_. You have every right to use me as you see fit, so why not let me serve my purpose?”

Castiel pushed away from the table, staggering a little as he straightened and hissing in pain. He leaned against the table and took several deep breaths before turning on his heel and marching out the front door. Dean leapt up to follow him, only to be stopped in his tracks when Castiel whirled around and snarled at him to stay put.

Dean sat back down in shock. He’d seen Castiel angry before, but never like this, and never at him. He replayed the conversation over in his mind, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong, and coming up with nothing. He just wanted what was best for Castiel, wanted him to be happy.

Dean drained the last of his coffee and began clearing the dirty dishes from the table. He hoped that Sam would be able to talk some sense into Castiel when he arrived.

******

“It hasn’t even been a week,” said Sam, later that afternoon. “He probably has some sort of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder on top of everything else. You can’t expect him just to go back to being exactly like he was before he was sold.”

He and Dean sat on opposite ends of the kitchen table, the space between them covered with books and papers. Dean cradled baby Adam in his arms, glancing down every so often and marveling how much Adam already resembled Sam.

“I get that he’s gonna need some time,” said Dean.

Sam flipped a page of Alastair’s journal.

“I don’t think that you do,” he said, tapping his pencil against his notebook. “You keep throwing around words like friends and family, but have you ever stopped to think about what that must sound like to him? He knows the academic definition of friendship, but his experience of it is completely skewed. You keep telling him to trust you, but then you go and do stuff like leave him alone in a room with Victor Hendrickson.”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” said Dean.

“I know,” said Sam. “But just look at it from Cas’s point of view. He’s probably just as confused by what you’re saying as you are by what he’s saying. There’s only so much that Sarah’s going to be able to explain to him.”

Both of them turned and looked through the propped open door to where Castiel was slumped against the oak tree near the honeysuckle bush. Sarah sat on the swing, lazily pushing herself back and forth with one foot as she spoke. Whatever she was saying wasn’t getting a response from Castiel, who’d turned his head away from Sarah and was staring into the branches of the bush, looking for bees, most likely.

“He looks like shit,” said Sam. “How long do you think it’ll take him to recover from using his grace like that?”

“I don’t know,” said Dean. “It wasn’t like he was any too strong to begin with. I told him not to heal me, but the stubborn bastard—“

“Felt horrible for what he did and wanted to do whatever he could to make it right. Yeah. What a jerk.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Dean, looking down as Adam grabbed his pinky.

“But it’s probably what he heard. Add that to the fact that he’s so terrified of himself to begin with, and you’re going around telling him that you two are friends one minute, and then, in the next breath, telling him that he’s an idiot for basically trying to be your friend. It’s messed up. I think you both need to take a step back, here.”

“Just trying to save the guy’s life, Sammy.”

Sarah entered the kitchen and took a seat next to Dean.

“How’re things going in here?” she asked. “You want me to take Adam?”

“Nah. Kid’s got a death grip on me,” said Dean.

Sarah smiled.

“Be thankful you don’t have long hair,” she said. “Hurts like a mofo when he grabs a fistful.”

“Truth,” said Sam, shaking his hair out of his face. “How’s Cas?”

“He’s a mess,” said Sarah. “Not entirely unexpected, considering what he’s been through.”

“Did he say anything to you?” asked Dean.

“Not really. Honeybees have five eyes but can’t see the color red.”

“That’s it?”

“And he asked me to leave because he couldn’t guarantee my safety.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Great. That’s going to make an excellent impression if he says that at the trial.”

Sarah opened one of Sam’s textbooks and began taking notes, while Sam re-immersed himself in the journal. Dean felt as though he ought to be contributing as well, but, as Adam had taken over both of his hands, Dean contented himself with making faces at the baby and noting which ones elicited cooing and which ones merely caused Adam’s eyes to widen in surprise.

“Knock, knock,” called a voice from the doorway some time later. Dean looked up and saw Aaron waving from just outside.

“Come on in,” said Dean.

“Hey,” said Aaron, settling himself on the remaining stool. “I didn’t know you had company. We can leave.”

“We? Is Gabriel with you?”

“Yeah. He saw Castiel down by that honeysuckle bush and went to talk to him. But, like I said, if we’re imposing…”

“Nope, not imposing at all,” said Dean. “Aaron, this is my brother, Sam, and his wife, Sarah. And this little dude,” Dean jiggled the baby in his arms, “Is my nephew, Adam. Guys, this is Aaron Bass.”

Hellos were exchanged all around.

“How’s Gabriel?” asked Sam, after shaking Aaron’s hand. “I met him once, when he was staying with Dean. He was quite the character.”

Aaron grinned.

“Still is,” he said. “I never thought that owning an angel would be so… fun. All of my parents’ angels were always so serious and boring.”

Sarah and Sam exchanged indignant looks. Dean jumped up and crossed the short distance between Sarah and himself.

“Hey, he’s just a kid,” Dean murmured to Sarah as he leaned over her shoulder to settle Adam in her arms. “He doesn’t know.”

Apparently, he wasn’t quiet enough.

“What’d I say?” Aaron asked, looking from Dean to Sarah to Sam.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Dean.

“Is that how you think Gabriel views his enslavement?” asked Sarah, her voice gentle. “As fun?”

“I…” Aaron trailed off, looking perplexed.

“Sarah and Sam are angel rights activists,” explained Dean. “They don’t believe that humans should own angels at all.”

“Oh,” said Aaron.

“We do understand that, at this point in time, freeing every slave isn’t feasible,” said Sam. “We get that, and I know you treat Gabriel well. But you can see how saying that owning a slave is fun is a little offensive, right?”

“Someone say offensive?” came Gabriel’s voice from the doorway. “Well, look no further.” He model posed over the threshold for a few seconds before entering the room.

“Hey, Gabe,” said Dean. “You remember my brother, Sam?”

“Sure do,” said Gabriel, ruffling Sam’s hair and giving him a lascivious wink as he passed. “Looking good, Vidal Sam-soon.”

Sam ducked his head and glared at Gabriel.

“And allow me to introduce his wife, Sarah, and their son, Adam,” finished Dean.

“Oops,” said Gabriel. “I’d say that I didn’t mean to offend, but, well, that would be a lie.” He crouched next to Sarah and crossed his eyes at Adam, who immediately began to cry. Gabriel backed off.

“Kids these days. They just don’t appreciate good comedy.”

“He’s probably hungry,” said Sarah. “Do you mind if I take him into the living room? It’s easier if I have a chair with arms.”

“Go ahead,” said Dean, secretly relieved that he wouldn’t have to play the _where do I look_ game while the baby nursed.

“I’ll help you guys get settled,” said Sam, closing his notebook.

“Thanks,” said Sarah. She shifted Adam to one arm and grabbed the diaper bag with the other.

Gabriel sat down on the stool Sarah had vacated.

“Where’s Cas?” asked Dean.

“Sleeping Beauty nodded off right in the middle of my joke about the biker, the priest, and Justin Bieber,” said Gabriel. “So rude. Anyway, you got any food in this joint?”

“You just left him outside?” said Dean, half rising. “It’s nearly sunset and it’s going to get cold. And clouds just rolled in. What if it starts to rain?”

Gabriel shrugged.

“I asked if he wanted to come in,” he said. “Castiel’s a big boy. So. Food?”

Dean irritably gestured toward the pantry.

“You know where everything is,” he said, and pushed away from the table. “I’m going to go bring him in.”

“Of course you are,” said Gabriel, disappearing into the pantry.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Dean, over the sounds of Gabriel rummaging around.

“It means,” said Gabriel, emerging with a bag of Cadbury mini eggs leftover from Easter, “That you are a total hypocrite.”

“What? I am not.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and popped a handful of the pastel colored eggs into his mouth.

“Sure you are,” he said. “You’re human. You can’t help it.”

“Hey!” exclaimed Aaron.

Gabriel held out the bag.

“Egg? They’re chocolaty and delicious.”

“No!” said Aaron. “I mean… yes.” He held out his hands and Gabriel dumped a pile of eggs into them. “But what I was going to say is that not all humans are hypocrites.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Master A. Take Dean here, for example. He’ll claim to be Castiel’s friend until he’s blue in the face, tell him that he doesn’t see Castiel as a slave. And in the next breath he’ll be barking out orders with the best of them.”

“Bullshit,” said Dean.

“Oh, really?” said Gabriel. He set the bag of candy on the table and began counting down with his fingers. “When you brought him here against his will? Forced him to allow Sam to remove his collar?”

“Excuse me for wanting to save his life. Man. What a dick am I.”

“You want to ignore the lifesaving stuff? Fine. I mean, I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t have done the same thing. And it’s not like there isn’t plenty more to choose from. How about this morning, when you forbid him from doing anything useful?”

“Angels don’t work in this house, Gabriel. That’s always been the rule. I don’t recall you having a problem with it when you stayed here.”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t give a shit about you, your house, or any of it.” Gabriel crunched his way through a few more eggs before continuing. “But Castiel does. He feels like he owes you for everything you’ve done for him, and he’s trying to repay you the only way he knows how.”

“He doesn’t owe me anything,” muttered Dean. He sat back down. “I’m his friend. That’s what friends do for each other.”

Gabriel rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers.

“Is that so?” he said. “Friends take away their friends’ autonomy? Force their friends to depend on them for their every need? Order their friends around like, well, slaves? Humans and angels can’t be friends, Dean, because the disparity of power is too great. You’ve seen to that with these.”

Gabriel hooked a finger beneath his collar and pulled it as far away from his skin as he could, which wasn’t very far considering the unforgiving nature of the leather.

“Cas doesn’t wear a collar,” said Dean. “There is no disparity of power.”

Gabriel snorted.

“Uh huh. Only, his grace is almost non-existent due to the 20 years of hell he endured, rendering him even less powerful than that baby in the other room. Not to mention the fact that he’s so fucked up in the head from being used as a killing machine for the better part of those 20 years that the very thought of replenishing his grace terrifies him beyond belief. And then, the moment he finds a way to make himself feel a little more normal, a little less like a ticking time bomb, you come around a blow it all out of the water and call if friendship.”

Gabriel brought his hands together in slow, exaggerated claps.

“Well done.”

Dean sat at the end of the table, stunned. Was that really the way that Castiel saw things? All this time, had he been hurting Castiel even more? Dean wanted to scoff, to tell Gabriel that he didn’t know what he was talking about, but a part of him saw the truth in what Gabriel had said.

“How do I fix it?” he asked instead.

“You can stop all of this family and friendship crap, for one,” said Gabriel. “Play your role. Be his master. Since you apparently aren’t capable of not ordering him around, maybe try giving him orders that don’t make him feel like shit. Let him cook and clean and feel useful. Get him a real collar, because even though you and I know that he would never intentionally hurt anyone, he doesn’t believe that, and he’s not going to feel safe with his grace unbound when it’s fully functioning. Face up to the fact that he’s and angel and you’re a human, and that’s just the way it’s going to be.”

“Not for everyone, though,” spoke up Aaron.

Gabriel and Dean both stared at him. Aaron squirmed a little.

“I mean,” he said, “you and me, Gabriel. We’re not like that.”

“Aaron, come on,” said Gabriel. “You’re at least as bad as he is.”

From Aaron’s reaction, one would have thought that Gabriel had slapped him. He shook his head dumbly. Gabriel crumpled the empty mini egg bag and pitched it into the trash.

“You think we’re friends? Why? Because you share your pot with me? Because you don’t stand over me 24/7 barking commands? I mean, don’t get me wrong, living with you is 10 times better than any other placement I’ve had, but that doesn’t make us friends. I know you wouldn’t be brave enough to come within 50 feet of me if I didn’t have this collar on. And don’t you think for a second that, if the collar came off, that I’d even stick around for any measurable length of time.”

“Gabriel,” said Dean.

“What?” said Gabriel. “It’s the truth. Just like it’s true that this _friendship_ goes out the window the second his parents show up. Or his friends. Or if there’s a girl around. You sure know how to play the part of the douche bag owner in front of other people, don’t you, master?”

“Stop it,” said Aaron.

Gabriel lips parted in a taunting smile.

“Or what?” he said. “You gonna punish me? Beat the disrespect right out of me? Let me tell you, it’s been tried before.”

“Jesus, Gabriel!” said Dean. “Give the kid a break. The hell’s gotten into you?”

“I wonder if my master knows how angels and humans initially started working together. I know that you do, Dean. You know all about how high the death tolls were in those ancient battles when other beings of magic laid siege to the human population. You know that God saw what was happening and dispatched his angels, his children, to aid and protect his most precious creations.”

Gabriel turned away from Dean and fixed his gaze on Aaron.

“We were warriors,” he said. “We fought side by side with you, our grace unbound. Our mission was to serve, but we had our honor. We had our pride. Until the day came when the humans at last tasted victory. The supernatural entities that had initiated the attacks had been defeated. It should have been a glorious day for both man and angel, but it wasn’t. Not for angels, anyway. The humans, instead of rejoicing with us, now looked upon the angels with fear of our power. They restrained our grace and enslaved us. And our Father, loath to raise a hand against the humans, his favorites, forsook us. He abandoned us.”

“That’s not what I was taught,” said Aaron. “Angels… need to be controlled. You’re too powerful for your own good. You can’t handle it. It makes you crazy. I’ve seen it.”

Gabriel slammed both hands down on the table and leaned into Aaron’s space.

“No, you know what makes me crazy? Not being able to fly.”

“You— you can fly,” said Aaron, taking a step back. “I’ve seen you fly.”

Dean had never heard Gabriel utter such a completely mirthless laugh.

“This collar allows me to fly short distances. From downstairs to upstairs. Across the street. It’s not even far enough to actually _feel_ like flying, not really. Not when I should be capable of circling the globe. No wonder some of us go insane. It’s not because we have too much power… it’s because we’re not permitted to make use of what we do have.”

“Okay, Gabriel, I think he gets it,” said Dean.

Gabriel laughed again.

“No,” he said, backing away from Aaron, still chuckling. “No, he doesn’t. None of you do. You never will.”  

Aaron seemed to recover a little from his shock, and shrugged into his jacket.

“We should probably go,” he said.

Gabriel made a grand, sweeping bow.

“As you wish, master,” he said, and followed Aaron out the door.

Dean waited until the sound of Aaron’s car faded away before he dropped his head into his hands. Gabriel was the last angel he would have expected to have an outburst like that. Aaron was a little clueless, but he was basically a good guy. He did his best, and Dean knew that he had genuine affection for Gabriel. Until just a few minutes ago, Dean had assumed the affection was mutual.

“You okay?” asked Sam. He entered the room and sat down across from Dean.

“Heard that, did you?”

Sam shrugged.

“None of you were exactly whispering,” he said. “Gabriel does have a point, though.”

“I know he has a point,” said Dean. “I’m doing the best I can, but it’s not like all of the angels are going to be able to be freed overnight. And an angel like Gabriel wouldn’t be a good candidate for freedom anyway, you said so yourself. He’s too impulsive and indiscreet. He would put whatever settlement he was integrated into in danger of discovery.”

“And I stand by that,” said Sam. “Doesn’t mean I don’t feel for the guy, though. He’s been through a lot these past few months; with the emergency removal from his former owners, to being placed with Aaron, to finding out that his brother is alive but severely damaged… I mean, when you think about it, it’s no wonder he lost it a little.”

Dean grunted, his head still in his hands.

“Anyway,” said Sam, “We’re about to head out, too. I think I’ve got a good angle for my defense, and I’ll work that up. I am going to need to speak with Cas before the trial, though. I’ll try to set up a time to come back to coincide with Julie Pierce’s subpoena.”

“You’re subpoenaing Julie Pierce?” said Dean. “Cas isn’t going to like that. Not to mention, her parents are gonna kill you. And me.”

Sam shrugged.

“It was her idea,” he said. “She called, just now, when we were feeding Adam. Said she’d heard about the trial and wanted to help, but that her parents wouldn’t give permission. She did some research and found out that if I subpoenaed her, her parents wouldn’t have a choice in the matter. She’s a smart kid.”

Dean blew out a breath and raised his head.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you hear that stuff Gabriel was saying about Cas?”

Sam nodded, and waited for Dean to continue.

“Do you think that’s really how Cas feels?” asked Dean.

“I dunno,” said Sam. “Some of it, at least. You should probably ask him. And, you know, actually listen to what he has to say.”

“Right,” muttered Dean.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder.

“Well, we better get moving before Adam wakes up again. Let me know how it goes.”

******

Dean made his way outside soon after Sam, Sarah, and Adam left, a comforter and pillow tucked under one arm and the handles of a plastic grocery bag wrapped around his other hand. He found Castiel stretched out at the base of the oak tree, one arm curled beneath his head. He was bare chested, and as Dean drew closer, he could see the goosebumps dotting his flesh.

Dean dropped the pillow and the grocery bag and unfolded the comforter. He floated it over Castiel and tucked it carefully around him. Castiel’s eyes opened just as he finished.

“Dean?” said Castiel, his voice rough with sleep, “What are you doing?”

“Just brought you a blanket,” said Dean. “Don’t want you getting sick.”

Castiel sat up and leaned back against the gnarled trunk of the tree.

“You’re not going to order me back inside?” he said, sounding faintly surprised.

Dean sat down on the swing and scuffed his feet in the dirt in front of him.

“No, I’m not,” he said. “I wanted to apologize for this morning. And… all the times before this morning when I’ve pushed you into doing stuff you didn’t want to do.”

Castiel’s shrug was barely perceivable through the fabric of the comforter.

“It’s your right,” he said.

“If you want to be technical about it,” said Dean. “But…” he left the sentence unfinished, not wanting to start another argument.

“Gabriel told me some things,” he said, instead.

Castiel twirled a blade of grass between his thumb and forefinger.

“Gabriel talks too much,” he said.

Dean huffed out a laugh.

“Can’t argue with you there. Doesn’t make what he says any less true, though.” Dean paused to give Castiel a chance to say something. When he didn’t, Dean pressed on.

“Is that how you really feel?” he asked. “Because I didn’t… I don’t… I just want you to be happy.”  

Castiel stared at Dean in that way he had that made Dean feel as though he was physically being pinned in place.

“Gabe tells me that you want a new collar,” said Dean.

“I think it would be the safest thing to do,” said Castiel.

“If it’s what you want… I’m not sure that it’s necessary, though,” said Dean.

Castiel looked away.

“Of course,” he murmured.

“No, Cas,” said Dean, and slid off of the swing, landing with a thump at Castiel’s left side. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, or control you, or anything like that. Just hear me out.”

Castiel didn’t encourage him to go on, but didn’t say anything to stop him either, so Dean continued,

“Remember the first time we climbed this tree together? I was nine, I think, and I was terrified of heights. The last thing I wanted to do was climb a huge friggin’ tree. I was sure I was going to fall and break my neck. You remember that?”

“Yes,” said Castiel. “I remember.”

“And do you remember what you said to me when I told you there was no way in hell I was climbing that tree?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed in concentration, and he looked away.

“I said that I knew you could do it. And I told you not to worry about falling, because I would be there to catch you and make sure you wouldn’t be hurt.”

“And then what happened?”

Castiel gave a small smile.

“We climbed the tree,” he said. “You didn’t fall.”

“No I didn’t,” said Dean. “You know why?”

“Because you were an athletic and agile child with a good sense of balance,” said Castiel, plucking a second blade of grass and twisting it around the first.

“Nope,” said Dean. “It was because my friend Castiel told me that he believed I could do it, and that he would be there to help if I needed it. And I trusted him.”

“This is a little different,” said Castiel.

“Not really,” said Dean. “I believe you can function without a collar, Cas. And I’m not trying to be all controlling when I say it. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. I’m saying it because you deserve that freedom.”

Castiel was focused on weaving a third blade of grass with the other two, and didn’t respond.

“In the end, though,” said Dean, “It’s your decision.”

Castiel did look up at that.

“It is?” he said.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “If you tell me you want me to make you a collar, I’ll do it. But… at least think about what I said. Not because I’m the boss of you and you have to do what I say, but because you trust me when I say that I believe in you. And you know that I’ll be there to help you if you need it. Because that’s what friends do.”

“Dean…”

“I know you and Gabriel and everyone else say that friendship can’t exist between humans and angels. But, come on, your whole life you’ve been the exception to every rule. Why stop now?”

Castiel sighed, and let the braided grass stems fall from his fingers. He didn’t speak for a long time.

“I’m finding it difficult to think clearly,” he said, at last. “I’m very tired.”

“Say no more, I’ll get out of your hair,” said Dean, climbing to his feet and brushing off the seat of his pants. “You staying out here?”

Castiel nodded.

“If it’s alright.”

“Your choice,” said Dean.

“It’s so much less confining out here,” was all that Castiel said, but Dean knew that it wasn’t as simple as that, that Castiel’s desire to not be trapped behind four walls went deeper than just a need for fresh air.

Dean picked up the pillow and the plastic bag.

“I brought you a pillow, and some food. PB &J and some hot chocolate. If you’re hungry.”

“Thank-you,” said Castiel. “I am a little hungry, actually.”

Dean pulled out a thermos and a foil wrapped sandwich from the bag and handed them to Castiel. He hesitated for a moment, suddenly unwilling to leave.

“I can keep you company while you eat,” said Dean, sitting back down. His stomach chose that moment to loudly remind him that he’d skipped supper.

Castiel tilted his head and looked around, as though he wasn’t quite sure where the sound had come from.

“It was just me,” said Dean.

“Oh,” said Castiel. He tore his sandwich in half and offered Dean a piece.

“Dude, no,” said Dean. “You don’t eat enough as it is.”

“Sharing food is something friends do, is it not?” asked Castiel. He held Dean’s gaze, his expression solemn, and Dean realized he was being tested.

“Yeah, Cas, it is,” said Dean, and accepted the sandwich. He was rewarded with another one of Castiel’s small smiles, and their knees knocked together as they both attempted to settle themselves a little more comfortably. Something had just changed, Dean was sure of it. It was new and fragile, and Dean was afraid it would dissolve if he did something that called attention to it. So he sat and ate his congealed peanut butter and grape jelly, and didn’t even hesitate when Castiel cracked open the hot chocolate and insisted on sharing that too.

******

Dean cooked breakfast the next morning, but accepted Castiel’s offer of doing the dishes without protest. After the cleaning was finished, Castiel excused himself and returned to his spot beneath the oak tree, where he had a good view of the honeysuckle bush.

Dean resisted the urge to follow him and resume their discussion from the previous evening. There didn’t seem to be a need, he told himself. He and Castiel both seemed to be on the same page with the friendship attempt, and Castiel hadn’t made any further mention of a new collar. Dean certainly wasn’t going to bring it up.

Also bothering him was the idea of Castiel sleeping outside on the cold, hard ground. That Dean could actually do something about, and he spent the better part of the better part of the morning foraging for materials in the garage. Once he’d gotten everything organized, he discovered that he really only needed one trip to move everything.

“Got something for you, Cas,” said Dean, approaching the tree with his arms full.

Castiel turned away from the bees and squinted up at Dean, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand.

“What is all of that?” asked Castiel as Dean deposited everything on the grass nearby.

“Your new bed,” said Dean. “I was going to try and pitch a tent, but then I thought that still might seem a little, um, cramped for you, so I thought we’d try this instead. It’s a hammock.”

“Hammock,” repeated Castiel, eyeing the jumble of rope, wood, and various other odds and ends at Dean’s feet with apprehension.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Haven’t you seen one before?”

Castiel shook his head.

“Well, just wait. You’re going to love it.”

Setting up the hammock proved to be a little more complex than Dean anticipated. Through some trial and error, he and Castiel finally managed to secure one end of the hammock to the oak tree, and the other to the clothesline pole. Castiel moved a few steps back after the last knot had been fastened to take in the finished product.

“What do you think?” said Dean.

“Is that how it’s supposed to look?” asked Castiel.

“Yes, that’s how it’s supposed to look,” said Dean, indignant.

“I meant no offense,” said Castiel. “It just looks a little… unstable. Are you certain the knots will hold?”

“Of course they’ll hold,” said Dean. He reached over to the nearest rope end and tugged hard.

“See? That’s fine Winchester craftsmanship right there.”

Castiel still didn’t look convinced. Dean rolled his eyes.

“I’ll prove it,” he said, and lay down on the hammock. It was heaven. Why hadn’t he thought to put the damn thing up before? It had been moldering in the garage for years. Dean closed his eyes and smiled.

“Change of plans,” he said. “This is my bed, now. You’re on your own, Cas.”

Dean cracked his eyes open to see Castiel’s response and saw nothing but empty space. He sat up too fast and nearly flipped the hammock over, but managed to locate Castiel. The angel knelt on the ground, busy gathering left over odds and ends into a pile. As Dean watched, Castiel grimaced and brought up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Cas?” said Dean. He rolled out of the hammock. “What’s wrong?”

Castiel waved him away.

“It will pass,” he said, rising to his feet. He stumbled, and Dean reached out a hand to steady him. Castiel surprised him by gripping his sleeve tightly.

“You okay?” asked Dean.

Castiel shook his head slightly and blinked.

“Dizzy,” he said.

“Why don’t you lay down for a minute,” suggested Dean. He guided Castiel over to the hammock and held it steady as Castiel dropped onto it. Castiel closed his eyes and tried to squirm over to the other side. The hammock tilted dangerously, and Dean raised a knee and leaned forward in an attempt to balance things out.

Castiel opened his eyes and looked at Dean over his shoulder.

“Did you want to lie down also?” he asked.

“No, I’m good,” said Dean, reluctant to shift his weight lest he send Castiel tumbling to the ground.

“There’s plenty of room,” said Castiel. “And you were enjoying yourself before.” He attempted to scooch even farther to the other side, and the hammock listed again, knocking Dean off balance. Somehow, while attempting to keep from falling directly on top of Castiel and to also keep the hammock from rolling, Dean wound up face down next to him.

“Cas,” said Dean, his voice muffled against the fabric of the hammock, “You can’t just flail around like that, or the thing’s going to flip over.”

“Apologies,” said Castiel, stilling. “My error, apparently, was in taking your assurances of the stability of this apparatus at face value.”

Dean propped himself up on his elbows and turned onto his side to face Castiel. Exhaustion was evident on Castiel’s face, but through it Dean detected a hint of amusement.

“Cas, did you just… make a joke?”

“I may have,” said Castiel. Dean flopped down onto his back with a grin, the hammock rocking back and forth slightly with the movement.

“You were right,” said Castiel, after a few minutes. “This is extremely comfortable.”

Dean tilted his head to the side and watched as Castiel closed his eyes and turned his head toward the sun, exposing the red line around his neck that marked where his collar had been. It faded more and more every day, and Dean had to strain to see it in the bright sunlight. A small smile played on Castiel’s lips, and the sight distracted Dean more than it should have.

“Don’t get too comfy,” said Dean, abruptly, in an attempt to avoid a repeat of the previous morning’s scene on the couch. “It’s almost time for lunch.”

“And it’s my turn to cook,” said Castiel. He opened his eyes and looked around.

“How am I supposed to exit this hammock?”

“Very carefully,” said Dean. Castiel still looked beat, and Dean struggled to find a way to tell him to just stay put and relax without him getting the wrong idea.

“Or,” said Dean, as Castiel struggled to pull himself into a sitting position, “We could order pizza and eat out here.”

“Pizza,” said Castiel. He leaned his head back to rest on the canvas. “Have I eaten that before?”

“You bet,” said Dean. “We used to have it all the time.”

“Pepperoni,” said Castiel. “Those are flat little circles of meat, correct? I think I like those.”

Dean pulled out his phone.

“Pepperoni it is,” he said, dialing.

Dean slipped his phone back into his pocket after completing the order. He looked over at Castiel and saw that Castiel had closed his eyes again.

“Hey,” he said, giving Castiel a nudge with his elbow. “Pizza’s due in 20. Don’t fall asleep just yet.”

“Mmmm,” murmured Castiel, turning slightly so that his head nodded onto Dean’s shoulder. “ ‘M not sleeping.”

“Oh no?” said Dean, amused.

“No. Just… resting my eyes.” 

“Yeah, okay, Cas,” said Dean. “I’ll let you know when the pizza gets here.”

******

Castiel managed to not use his grace over the next few weeks, and as a result gained much needed strength. He and Dean began taking daily walks around the property. Each day they went a little farther as they re-visited their favorite childhood spots. Castiel spent long minutes standing on the rocky bank of the creek, eyes closed as he listened to the sound of the water rushing over the rocks.

During that time, Dean and Castiel avoided talking about the trial, or the nature of relationships between angels and humans. They continued dividing the household chores between the two of them. Castiel took an interest in maintaining the trees and plants that surrounded the house, and one day hesitantly asked if Dean had ever considered expanding some of the flowerbeds to include plants that would attract more bees.

The next day, Dean went a little overboard at the farm supply store, purchasing over 100 plants and even more seeds. The look of pure joy on Castiel’s face was worth the expense, and they soon settled into a routine of walking the property in the mornings, spending the shank of the day working on the yard, and, once the sun set, cooking and eating dinner while watching an episode or two of Dr. Sexy before Castiel retired to his hammock.

Sam called with daily updates on Castiel’s case. He’d spoken to Julie’s parents, and they’d agreed to allow Julie to testify. Sam confided that he suspected that Julie had done some preemptive persuasive arguing about the possibility of a subpoena, as the Pierces were perfectly pleasant and willing to cooperate at the time of Sam’s phone call. Julie was due to meet with Sam and Sarah at Dean’s place just a few days before the trial to go over testimony.

Two days before Sam was due to arrive; it started to rain. Castiel was initially thrilled, as all of the new plants desperately needed it, but as the storm continued throughout the day and into the evening, he started to get restless. Dean found him leaning against the doorframe after dinner that night, dishtowel in hand, glumly watching as the rain came down in sheets just beyond the porch.

“Looks like it’s going to rain all night,” said Dean.

“Yes,” said Castiel.

“Are you going to be okay staying inside?” asked Dean. “I mean, you don’t have to, but….”

“It would be foolish to push my grace at this point,” said Castiel without turning around. “You are correct, it’s still quite vulnerable.”

“Well, your room’s all ready if you want,” said Dean.

Castiel’s shoulders slumped, and Dean suddenly would have given anything for the sun to come out.

******

Dean wasn’t quite sure what it was that woke him up sometime after midnight. He could hear the rain pattering on the roof and the wind howling through the trees, and for a few moments he lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the storm, hoping that the fragile new plants wouldn’t be damaged.

He’d almost fallen back to sleep when he heard it, a sound not at all associated with the weather. Dean threw off the covers and opened the bedroom door, pausing when he heard the noise again. It was a low keening, and it seemed to be coming from Castiel’s room.

Dean knocked lightly on the door.

“Cas?” he called. “You okay?”

He thought he heard Castiel say something, but it was muffled. Dean opened the door and stepped inside.

“Cas?”

“No,” moaned Castiel. He was curled into a ball in the center of the bed. Dean started to rush across the room, but stopped when Castiel suddenly cried out,

“No! Get back, Dean!”

Dean backed up several paces before noticing that Castiel’s eyes were still closed and that he was facing away from Dean.

“Cas?” said Dean. “Are you awake?”

Castiel didn’t respond, just continued to shake and tremble. Dean crept forward and crouched at the side of the bed.

“Sorry,” murmured Castiel. “Sorry.” His hands and feet twitched, and he curled into himself even more than he had been. Dean leaned over and peered at Castiel’s face. His eyes moved frantically beneath his closed lids, and a sheen of sweat covered his brow.

Dean sat back on his heels. He didn’t want a repeat of the last time he’d tried to wake Castiel from a nightmare, but he didn’t want to just leave him either.

“No… no, please,” mumbled Castiel, gripping the sheets so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“Hey,” said Dean.

He hesitated, and then lightly patted Castiel on the shoulder. Castiel’s entire body shuddered, and before Dean could move, great black wings materialized, ripping right through the material of Castiel’s T-shirt.

“What the hell?” said Dean.

Castiel continued to shake and mutter unintelligibly, still completely asleep. Dean crept closer, careful not to tread on the wings spilling over the edge of the bed and trailing onto the floor. He reached out and ran a hand along the large joint of the nearest wing, because he just couldn’t seem to _not_ touch them, dammit.

“Cas, you’re alright,” he said. “It’s just a dream.”

Dean continued to speak soothingly, absently stroking Castiel’s wings as he did so. Almost immediately, Castiel quieted. He gradually stilled, his breathing evening out. The feathers beneath Dean’s hand began to fluff up and the wing itself moved closer to Dean.

The warm slide of feathers beneath Dean’s hand was mesmerizing, and after a few minutes, Dean felt himself slump against the bed. After a brief struggle, he also allowed his eyes to fall closed, only vaguely aware of his head dropping down to rest on soft mass of feathers in front of him.

******

Dean’s pillow moved. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but he did know that he was comfortable, and the person trying to shake his pillow needed to stop. Right now. Dean clutched at the soft, sweet-smelling cushion beneath his head.

“G’way, Sammy,” he groaned.

“Dean.”

Dean’s eyes flew open. That voice definitely didn’t belong to Sam. And his head wasn’t resting on a pillow. Dean slowly sat up, and saw Castiel gazing wide-eyed at his manifested wings over his shoulder.

“What—“ he began, but Dean cut him off.

“Let me explain. You were having a nightmare.”

Castiel’s eyes widened even more, and his wings disappeared as he pulled himself into a sitting position and swung around to face Dean.

“Are you hurt?” Castiel asked urgently, his eyes raking over Dean from head to toe.

“No! No, I’m not hurt. You didn’t even wake up.”

Castiel’s entire body sagged with relief, so much so that Dean reached out a hand to steady him.

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel. “I’m so sorry. This is why it’s so much safer for me to sleep outside. You shouldn’t have taken such a risk—“

“Take it easy,” said Dean. “It wasn’t a big deal. I came in here just to make sure you were okay, because you were having a nightmare, like I said. I tried to wake you up, but you were dead asleep, man. I just tapped you on the shoulder like this,” Dean demonstrated, relieved when Castiel’s wings did not materialize, “and your wings just appeared out of nowhere.”

Castiel’s jaw dropped.

“My wings just… appeared? When you touched me?”

Dean wouldn’t have blamed Castiel for being pissed, but Castiel didn’t seem angry at all. If anything, he looked stunned… and a little frightened.

“Just after, yeah,” said Dean. “But it couldn’t have been me, right? Because I just touched you two seconds ago, and your wings stayed put.”

“I’m awake,” said Castiel, as if that explained everything.

It didn’t, though.

“I’m pretty sure that I’ve touched you when you’ve been asleep other times, and nothing like that ever happened,” said Dean.

“Yes,” said Castiel. His eyes dropped down to the sheet twisted around his waist.

“Okay,” said Dean. “Well, then that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Forget it, please,” said Castiel. He took a deep breath and tried to wrap the sheet more securely around himself.

“No. Come on, Cas. Tell me what happened. I want to know what I did wrong so I don’t do it again.”

Castiel’s eyes softened.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dean,” he said. “Do not worry.”

Dean backed away as Castiel swung his feet off of the bed.

“I would like to dress, now,” said Castiel. “Humans usually request privacy for this sort of thing, correct?”

Dean sighed, realizing that as far as Castiel was concerned, the discussion was finished.

******

It didn’t stop raining once the entire day.

Castiel was quiet, even for him, and any conversation Dean attempted to make came out stilted and awkward. The two of them moved around the house, cleaning and fixing things that didn’t really need to be cleaned or fixed, and while he was somewhat lacking in the talking department, Castiel made up for it with the staring. It seemed as though every time Dean looked up, he would find Castiel watching him with an odd expression on his face, as though Dean was some sort of puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. Which was ridiculous, considering Castiel probably knew Dean better than anyone else, except, of course, for Sammy.

Finally, sometime around midafternoon, Dean couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Dude, what is with the staring?” he asked.

Castiel looked away (because, of course, his eyes had been fixed on Dean’s face) and opened and closed his mouth several times, making Dean feel like a jerk since Castiel was clearly uncomfortable. Dean forced a laugh, and was about to say that it was just a joke, that he hadn’t meant anything by it, when Castiel suddenly bolted for the front door.

“I think I’ll take a walk,” he said, so fast that Dean could barely understand him. “I should check on the plants and see if anything was damaged during the storm.”

And with that he was out the door, and all Dean could do was stare as he fought the urge to rush out after him and drag him back inside. Castiel was a lot stronger than he had been, certainly, but Dean wasn’t sure if his recovering grace was strong enough to withstand prolonged exposure to the elements.

Knowing that the absolute last thing Castiel wanted was to be followed, Dean turned away from the door. He wandered into the living room and plopped down on the couch, thinking he’d watch a little TV. He channel surfed without really seeing what flashed across the screen, his eyes drawn to the bay window, searching for Castiel. Dean thought about Castiel’s confusion earlier, when he’d woken up to find that his wings were on display and being used as Dean’s substitute bed.

Dean didn’t understand why Castiel hadn’t been angrier at finding his wings visible without his knowledge or consent. If Dean had been in his place, knowing what it meant for angels to show their wings, he would have been furious. Instead, Castiel had looked similar to how he’d looked when Dean had called him out on the staring… embarrassed and self-conscious.

******

It was hours later that Castiel returned, completely drenched and shivering.

“A-apologies for the m-mess,” Castiel stuttered as he squelched his way through the kitchen toward the stairs. “I th-thought that my g-grace would perform better for j-just a few hours, but I w-was mistaken.”

“It’s not a big deal, Cas, really,” said Dean, so happy that Castiel had come back in one piece that he wouldn’t even have noticed the puddles on the floor if Castiel hadn’t drawn his attention to them, “Jump in the shower and warm up, and then get into some dry clothes.”

“I-I will t-tend to the m-mud and w-water in a m-moment.”

“No. You’re the one who’s freezing to death, and I’m just standing here with nothing to do. Let me take care of it, Cas.”

Castiel didn’t argue, but he didn’t look happy with the idea either. He made his way upstairs without further complaint, and a few seconds later Dean heard the shower turn on.

Dean mopped up the dirty water from the kitchen floor, and decided to make one of Mary’s (Hester’s? It was still so confusing to him) rainy day specialties for supper: tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches. He’d just gotten everything arranged on the table when Castiel appeared, looking much warmer and more comfortable, if a little sheepish.

“So, did you find any damage?” asked Dean as he gestured for Castiel to sit down.

Castiel slid onto one of the stools. Judging by his bewildered expression, he’d been expecting a lecture of some sort, but Dean wasn’t going to go there. Not when he’d been the one to drive him away in the first place.

“Not much,” said Castiel, after a few seconds. He picked up his spoon and sampled a bit of soup, his eyes lighting up at the taste.

“So, tomato soup is a win,” said Dean. “I suppose… you never tried it before, did you? It wasn’t the kind of meal Mom ever let us eat outside.”

For Castiel, when he was training to be a slave, had never been allowed inside the house except during specific lessons.

“It’s very good,” said Castiel. “Warm.”

“Yeah, that’s the idea,” said Dean. “Take a piece of the sandwich and dip it in the soup. You’ll love it.”

Castiel did as Dean suggested, and though he didn’t say anything, Dean noticed that he continued to dip his sandwich into the soup before each bite until the sandwich was gone. Dean smiled into his own bowl. He liked watching Castiel experience good things for the first time. It was one of the reasons that, as a child, Dean had always made sure to bring extra food with him outside, as he’d loved watching Castiel’s reactions to each new taste.

They finished the meal and quickly dealt with the dishes. Castiel still wasn’t talking much, and Dean still caught him staring from time to time, but overall things were less awkward than they had been earlier that day.

“Dr. Sexy?” asked Dean, after the last dish had been dried.

Castiel nodded and followed Dean into the living room. He plopped down on the couch as Dean fiddled with the DVD player. Dean noticed that he was still shivering a little, and tossed the blanket over to him.

“Dean,” said Castiel, just as the theme song started to play.

“Yeah?” said Dean. Castiel continued to pluck at the blanket, arranging and rearranging it over his knees.

“I wanted to thank you for… last night,” he said. “It was very… what you did was…”

Dean tore his eyes away from the TV to look at Castiel. Was Castiel really thanking him for the whole wing debacle? Castiel’s cheeks flushed slightly as he realized that Dean’s eyes were on him.

“It was much appreciated,” mumbled Castiel, focusing on the lurid pattern that made up the blanket’s design.

“Jesus, Cas, you don’t have to thank me for that,” said Dean. “Let’s watch the show, okay?”

“Of course,” said Castiel, and fixed his eyes on the screen.

Dean turned back to the TV as well. They watched in silence for a few minutes, until Castiel spoke up during the scene where Dr. Sexy and Dr. Piccolo were having a steamy make-out session in the supply closet.

“This type of display of romantic affection… is it common amongst humans?” asked Castiel.

“I guess,” said Dean. “Maybe not exactly like that, but kissing’s pretty common, yeah.”

Castiel leaned forward and squinted at the screen.

“Kissing,” he murmured. “Is it pleasant?”  

Dean closed his eyes and let his head thunk onto the backrest of the couch. He did _not_ want to have the sex talk with Castiel. Dean waved a hand in the direction of the screen.

“They look like they’re enjoying it, don’t they?” he said.

“It looks messy,” said Castiel, tilting his head to the side, as if a different angle would help him to better understand.

“Sometimes that’s part of the fun,” said Dean, lifting his head and waggling his eyebrows. “So, what, angels don’t kiss? Not even mated pairs?”

“Angels who are bonded have different rituals than humans,” said Castiel. “For example, wings—“

“You don’t have to explain it,” said Dean hastily. “I know you guys don’t like to talk about it.”

“Normally, but—“

“Really, Cas, we don’t have to get into it,” said Dean.

Castiel fell silent, looking almost a little disappointed, which Dean thought was strange. He turned his attention back to the TV. Dr. Sexy and Dr. Piccolo had emerged from the supply closet, and had briefly parted ways to perform emergency surgery. Now they were in the process of sneaking into an empty ambulance to finish what they’d started. Dean didn’t notice Castiel leaning toward him, and nearly had a heart attack when Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s lower jaw.

“Hey!” yelped Dean. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You kissed me,” said Castiel, leaning back only slightly. “The morning after we fell asleep on the couch. You did the exact same thing, in the exact same way. Do you remember?”

Dean could only nod dumbly. Castiel’s hair was still wet from his shower, and it curled over his forehead, providing a startling contrast to the deep blue of his eyes.

“It’s just confusing,” said Castiel, “Because you kissed me here,” Castiel lightly touched his fingers to the spot Dean had kissed weeks ago. “But on the television they kissed here.” Castiel’s fingers moved over his lips, and Dean’s mouth suddenly went dry.

“Perhaps we could try it like this?” asked Castiel, his voice little more than a whisper. His face was so close to Dean’s that Dean could feel his breath puffing over his cheek. It was as if Dean’s brain had turned off and he couldn’t think of anything but how much he wanted to do just that, how much he’d wanted to do that for weeks.

“Dean?”

Castiel was just curious, Dean told himself. It’s not like human sexuality had been part of John and Mary’s curriculum. One kiss wouldn’t be a bad thing, wouldn’t mean he was like Crowley. After all, Castiel himself had asked him to. Who could blame the guy for wanting to know what it felt like after watching Sexy and Piccolo going at it every night for two weeks straight?

“Okay,” said Dean.

Castiel hardly needed to move to close the distance between them, his lips finding Dean’s with a barely there pressure that was all at once too much and not enough. Castiel’s lips parted slightly, and he angled his head so that his three-day’s growth of beard brushed against Dean’s cheek. It felt _amazing_ , so much so that Dean couldn’t help making a small sound of protest when Castiel pulled away.

Castiel’s point blank stare was as intense as ever as he studied Dean’s face.

“What I did,” he said, dropping his gaze. “It was… ah… correct?”

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle at the question, delivered in Castiel’s calm, completely earnest affect. Castiel leaned in again with more confidence this time. Dean met him halfway, returning Castiel’s kiss with a long, lingering one of his own. He teased at the seam of Castiel’s lips with his tongue until Castiel opened up and granted him access.

The tiny, pleased sound that Castiel made as Dean’s tongue swept into his mouth went straight to Dean’s dick. He leaned even farther forward, gently guiding Castiel to lie back against the arm of the couch. Castiel’s arms rose up and encircled Dean’s shoulders, and Dean felt another jolt of pleasure as Castiel began a tentative exploration of Dean’s mouth with his tongue.

Dean felt himself growing harder in his jeans, and involuntarily thrust his hips forward, desperate for friction. His groin brushed against Castiel’s, and Castiel gasped. The sound brought Dean crashing back down to earth, and even as Castiel tried to draw Dean closer, Dean found himself shoving the angel away.

“Shit!” he cried, pushing himself up and off of Castiel.

Castiel remained where he was, half reclining against the armrest, chest heaving. His eyes were wide open and dark, his lips, swollen. Dean nearly fell off of the couch in his eagerness to put more distance between them. What the hell had he just done? He needed to explain, to apologize to Castiel, but the words wouldn’t come, and Castiel just kept _staring_ at him.

Interestingly enough, it was Castiel who spoke first.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Dean, what—“

Dean couldn’t let him finish, didn’t think he could stand to hear it.

“I’m going to bed.”

It was the first thing that came to mind, and if flew out of Dean’s mouth before he could work out how it would sound to Castiel. Without waiting for a response, Dean fled up the stairs and into his bedroom. He slammed the door shut harder than was necessary in his desire to make everything just go away.   

Dean sat on the floor for a long time, his back against the door and his head in his hands. Things had been going so well. He and Castiel had been figuring out how to live together again, how to trust each other again, and Dean had to go and destroy it all over a stupid TV show. This made him even worse than Crowley, because Dean had promised Castiel that he’d never do anything like that to him, and Castiel had believed him.

Dean’s stomach roiled, and he thought he might be sick. He crept out of the bedroom. Castiel’s bedroom door was shut, and no light shown through the crack between door and the carpet. Dean made a beeline for the bathroom, and crouched miserably in front of the toilet. After a few minutes of nothing happening, he leaned back against the bathtub and pulled out his phone.

Sam answered the phone with an unintelligible grunt. Dean could hear Adam wailing in the background.

“Damn, did I wake him up?” asked Dean.

“No,” said Sam, sounding beyond exhausted. “He’s been crying nonstop for the past two days. We took him to the doctor today, and they couldn’t find anything, and gave us a bunch of things to try, but nothing’s helping.”

“Wow,” said Dean. “Poor kid. Hey, listen, if you guys need to reschedule for tomorrow—“

“Reschedule to when?” snapped Sam. “The trial’s in two days. I need to speak with Julie before that, not to mention Cas.”

“Sorry,” said Dean. “I was just trying to help. Maybe we could get a continuance for the trial or something.”

“Why? Because my kid is sick? That’s not how it works, Dean.”

“Okay, okay, forget I said anything.”

Sam sighed.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just been a rough couple of days. Is that why you called? To confirm everything’s still on for tomorrow?”

“Actually, no,” said Dean. “I kind of had an angel question for you, but it sounds like it’s a bad time, so…”

“What is it?” asked Sam.

Dean cleared his throat.

“It’s just that, you’ve spent more time around free angels than I have, and I was just wondering if you’d ever come across any who had… who were in a relationship with a human.”

“A relationship? Like, a romantic relationship?”

“Sure, I guess,” said Dean.

“I don’t think so,” said Sam. “A mated pair of angels with do what’s called a grace bond between them, but I’ve never seen an angel have anything even remotely similar with a human. Most free angels tend to avoid humans when possible. It seems like sex between humans and angels pretty much only occurs when owners are raping their slaves.”

Dean winced at his choice of words.

“Colorful,” he said.

“Accurate,” said Sam. “I mean, how can an enslaved angel ever truly give consent? The very definition of slavery makes that impossible.”

Dean moved closer to the toilet, feeling nauseous again. God, Sam was right. Dean had known it, but hearing it from someone else was somehow so much worse.

“What brought all of this on, anyway?” asked Sam.

Dean didn’t speak. He couldn’t tell Sam the truth, but couldn’t formulate a believable lie, either.

“Dean?” said Sam. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing,” said Dean. “I- um- nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow. Hope Adam’s feeling better.”

“Wait!” squawked Sam as Dean’s finger hovered over the end call button. Dean reluctantly brought the phone back up to his ear.

“Did something happen between you and Cas?” asked Sam.

“Does that sound like something I’d do?” said Dean, willing his voice to stop shaking. “Because that would be all kinds of wrong, right Sammy? That would make me worse than every scumbag owner I’ve ever seized an angel from. That would mean that I’ve taken advantage of an angel in my charge, that I’ve violated every oath I ever took when I started this work. That would mean—“

“Dean,” interrupted Sam. “What the hell did you do?”

Dean disconnected the call and leaned over the toilet, heaving the contents of his stomach into the bowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will start to get better in the next chapter. I promise. :)


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who have commented! I love hearing what parts worked or didn't work. It's all helpful :)

Chapter 7

 

Castiel lay awake for most of the night. He heard Dean cross the hall to the bathroom, and then return to his room some time later. The rest of the night was quiet, and Castiel found himself tossing and turning during the long, sleepless hours. As the darkness outside of the bedroom window gave way to the gray light of dawn, however, Castiel sat up and realized that he didn’t feel tired in the least. His grace had finally recovered enough to override his body’s need for sleep.

Drawing aside the curtains, Castiel peered out the window. His room overlooked the new section of garden that he and Dean had been working on, and Castiel was content to stand and watch for a few minutes as the first rays of sunlight spilled over the new plants. He’d missed the sun.

As he watched the world slowly come alive below him, Castiel’s thoughts turned to Dean. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that he’d done to make Dean suddenly run from the room the previous evening, and after some pondering, Castiel decided that the best course of action would be to apologize and hope that Dean accepted.

Decision made, Castiel descended the stairs and started gathering ingredients together in the kitchen. He remembered that, as a child, Dean had very much enjoyed pancakes. Castiel had memorized Hester’s recipe ages ago, as part of his training, but he hadn’t ever had the opportunity to make it all on his own. He hoped that he could do it justice.

Dean entered the kitchen just as Castiel poured batter for the first pancake onto the griddle.

“Good morning, Dean,” said Castiel. The batter sizzled in front of him, and he was loath to take his eyes off of it for fear of it becoming overdone. Still, he glanced up to offer Dean a smile, only to be met with the back of Dean’s head as he rushed out the door.

“Got some stuff to take care of before Sammy gets here,” called Dean from the porch. “Be back later!”

The door slammed, and Castiel was left staring at the smoking blob of pancake.

******

Castiel found it difficult to concentrate on what Sam was saying. He and Sarah had arrived, along with Adam, nearly an hour earlier, and Dean still wasn’t back yet.

“I just found out that Abbadon Knight is going to be prosecuting. Her entire family was killed by a rogue angel when she was younger, and she uses that experience to argue against any kind of forward progress of the angel rights movement. It’s going to be brutal, Cas,” said Sam.

Castiel nodded, though he hadn’t really been paying close attention. He wondered where Dean was, and if his delay in returning was simply due to his reluctance to be near Castiel after Castiel’s mistake the previous night, or if something else had happened.

“I’m going to see if he’ll eat again,” said Sarah, rising abruptly from her chair. Adam hadn’t stopped crying from the moment they’d arrived at the house.

“Do you need any help?” asked Sam, half rising from his stool. “Remember, the doctor said to—“

“I know what the doctor said,” snapped Sarah. “Nothing is working!”

Sam dropped back down into his seat and watched as Sarah and Adam disappeared into the living room. Adam’s screams were only slightly muffled by the wall separating the two rooms. A muscle jumped in Sam’s jaw, and he looked down at the papers scattered around him.

“Okay,” he said after a few moments, and Castiel could hear the slight tremor in his voice.

A wave of guilt flooded Castiel’s consciousness. Sam shouldn’t be here, spending so much time and energy on the defense of an angel when he had a wife and child to worry about.

“Sam,” Castiel began, but Sam cleared his throat and went on with talk of the trial.

“Abbadon is going to make things very difficult for you on the stand,” said Sam. “She’s going to try and twist anything you say into something that incriminates you. She’s especially going to focus on trying to prove that you pose a threat to humans.”

Castiel nodded. Sam set his pencil down.

“So, say I’m Abbadon. You are on the stand, and you’ve just finished giving your statement. I walk up to you, as Abbadon, and say, Castiel, you’ve claimed that you are no longer a threat to humans, yet your record of over 100 murders seems to indicate that this is a false statement. Tell me, what reason could there possibly be for the general public to feel safe in your presence?”

Castiel blinked, startled by the sudden hostility in Sam’s tone. He didn’t know the answer to the question, didn’t blame humans in the least for not trusting him. When Dean sat him down and told him that what had happened with Crowley wasn’t his fault, that Castiel wasn’t a monster whose very presence would put humans in danger, Castiel could almost believe him. But when Sam stared down at him, his eyes cold and calculating, all Castiel could think of were the names.

_Cal Garrigan, Lester Morris, Bill Gibson, Jeremy Frost, Evan Hudson, George Darrow, Silva Pearlman, Sean Boyden…._

“I… I don’t…” Castiel faltered. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel’s chest seemed too tight, as if all of the air had suddenly been sucked out of the kitchen. He stumbled away from the table and toward the door. His hands scrabbled against the knob for a few agonizing moments before he managed to get the door open and rush out onto the porch. Castiel grasped the rail and hung his head down between his braced arms.

“Cas?”

Castiel looked over his shoulder and found Sam hovering in the doorway.

“Are you alright?” asked Sam as he cautiously moved closer.

Castiel nodded and turned away, still unable to speak. Sam crossed the porch to stand next to him.

“Just breathe,” said Sam, and Castiel struggled to obey. He managed to draw in a few ragged gasps. Sam laid a hand on his shoulder and without thinking Castiel flinched away. He heard Sam swear softly under his breath.

“Cas, you know that wasn’t real, back there, right? I didn’t mean that, and I certainly don’t think that.”

_Cal Garrigan, Lester Morris, Bill Gibson, Jeremy Frost, Evan Hudson, George Darrow, Silva Pearlman, Sean Boyden…._

“It’s true,” Castiel managed to choke out, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to stop the onslaught of names through his mind.

“No,” said Sam. “It’s not. Here, sit down.”

Sam gestured to the lounge chair just a few feet away. Castiel crossed the porch in a few unsteady steps and gracelessly sank down upon the chair, dropping his head into his hands. He tried to get some control over his breathing as Sam had encouraged, but he continued to wheeze and gasp. This wasn’t supposed to happen. His grace was nearly back to full power. Technically, Castiel shouldn’t even need to breathe at all.

“Cas, please, just try to calm down.”

Sam sounded worried, and a moment later Castiel felt his weight settle beside him on the chair. Sam didn’t try to touch, for which Castiel was grateful.

“Dammit,” muttered Sam. “Dean should be here by now.”

“Because… of… me,” said Castiel, between gasps.

“What?” said Sam, sounding more confused, now, than worried.

“Last night…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Sam. “I know about last night. Did he apologize?”

“I… tried,” said Castiel. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Good job,” said Sam. “Try again.”

Castiel took another deep breath. He needed to be able to explain, if not to Dean, then at least to Sam.

“I tried to apologize,” said Castiel. “This morning. I tried, but I was too slow, and Dean left before I could.”

“No, Cas, Dean is the one who should apologize to you. You didn’t do anything wrong. Dean should not have taken advantage of you the way he did. Trust me, he feels horrible.”

“Dean… take advantage of… me?” said Castiel.

“Last night,” said Sam.

“No!” exclaimed Castiel, leaping to his feet. “That’s not… Dean would _never_.”

Sam simply looked bewildered.

“It’s okay,” he said again. “I didn’t really get the whole story from Dean… he was pretty upset. Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened? I mean, if you want to. I’m just trying to make some sense of all of this.”

Castiel slowly sat back down next to Sam.

“It wasn’t Dean’s fault at all,” he said, earnestly.

Sam nodded and waited for Castiel to continue. Castiel wrung his hands in his lap. He knew that he shouldn’t be bothering Sam with this, not with everything else that Sam had on his plate, but Castiel had somehow driven Dean away, and Sam seemed to think that Dean himself was to blame. It was up to Castiel to inform him of the truth. He just hoped that Sam wouldn’t be too upset with him once he had. What if Sam became so disturbed that he left, just as Dean had?

“Cas?” prompted Sam.

“For the past few weeks, Dean and I have been spending a lot of time together,” said Castiel. “We… we were both trying to figure out how to… understand each other. Dean kept calling it friendship, even though friendship between humans and angels is impossible.”

“I wouldn’t call it impossible,” said Sam. “I mean, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Castiel looked up. The expression on Sam’s face made him look like a little boy again, seeking approval from his older brother.

“Sam…”

“Never mind,” said Sam. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Go… go on.”

“I’ve been finding sleep… confusing. Dreams… it’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t. I injured Dean one night when I thought I was still…”

“Dean told me,” said Sam. “That wasn’t your fault, Cas.”

Castiel fought the instinct to argue.

“Nevertheless,” he said, finally, “I did not want to risk it happening again, so I’ve been sleeping outside. That seemed to work quite well, initially. The nightmares were still there, but there was no one around to be put in danger when I woke up, so it was really an immense improvement. But, when the rain started, I had to relocate back inside. Dean heard me, during the night, and came into the bedroom to check on me. When he touched my shoulder, my wings manifested.”

Sam nodded, and waited for Castiel to go on. He didn’t seem to understand the meaning behind what Castiel had just said. Castiel tried again.

“I didn’t consciously bring my wings forth. I didn’t even wake up. My wings appeared… in response to Dean’s touch.”

Sam’s eyes widened.

“Oh,” he said, uncertainly.

Castiel looked down at his folded hands. He could feel heat blooming over his cheeks, and felt a flash of irritation. That wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. His grace was strong enough to override such human physiological responses.

“Such an effect only ever occurs between a mates,” said Castiel.

Sam’s eyes widened further, to the point that Castiel was worried he might cause himself harm.

“Are you saying that you and Dean—“

Adam’s wails interrupted Sam, and both he and Castiel turned to see Sarah standing in the doorway, looking dangerously close to tears herself. Sam immediately jumped up from his seat and took Adam from her. Adam seemed even more upset by the switch, scrunching up his face and screaming louder.

“I don’t know what else to do,” said Sarah, her voice wavering. She dropped down onto one of the lawn chairs. “What kind of mother does that make me that I can’t even comfort my own son?”

“Sarah,” said Sam.

“I’m serious,” said Sarah, and Adam, if anything, cried louder. “I feel like such a failure.”

“You’re not a failure,” said Sam, but his words were drowned out by Adam’s sobs, and Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. 

Sam looked from his miserable son to his miserable wife, clearly at a loss for what to do. His eyes landed on Castiel.

“Cas, do you mind?” he said, holding Adam out.

Castiel’s first instinct was to run. He wasn’t wearing a collar, and he was almost back at full power. What if something happened? How could Sam possibly trust him with a child?

“Please?” said Sam, his eyes red rimmed and an air of desperation in his tone that Castiel couldn’t remember ever hearing from him before.

And somehow, without quite knowing how it came about, Castiel found himself with an armful of squalling infant. He sat, rigid with terror, afraid to move even his toes, watching while Sam embraced Sarah and attempted to comfort her. He shouldn’t be here. All of this was so very human, and no place for an angel.

Adam shifted in his arms, and Castiel immediately adjusted his hold so that he was more secure. Castiel could feel it, now. The child was in pain. He concentrated, and soon pinpointed the source of Adam’s discomfort. Without a second thought, Castiel rested two fingers on the baby’s forehead.

The absence of Adam’s cries left a curious ringing in Castiel’s ears. Humans were so fragile, mused Castiel, as Adam regarded him solemnly, a leftover tear escaping from his gray/blue eyes. Castiel brushed it off of Adam’s cheek with his thumb an instant before the child was ripped from his arms.

“Is he okay?” asked Sarah, frantically looking over her son.

“What happened?” asked Sam, attempting his own examination of Adam from over Sarah’s shoulder.

“The doctor missed something,” said Castiel. “An inguinal hernia. Very hard to detect.”

“You healed him?” said Sarah.

Castiel nodded. Sarah sat down next to him and flung the arm not supporting Adam around Castiel’s neck, drawing him into a half hug. Castiel felt her tears soaking through the sleeve of his T-shirt as she buried her face in his shoulder. He patted her gingerly on the back, raising his eyes to meet Sam’s, silently questioning if what he was doing was appropriate.

“You’re doing fine, Cas,” said Sam, taking a seat on Castiel’s other side. He reached out one long arm and stroked Adam’s cheek with a finger while draping the other over Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel felt the urge to shrug out from beneath both Sam and Sarah, but resisted.

This type of contact was different than anything he’d ever experienced with Mas—with Crowley. Relief and gratitude emanated strongly from both of them, along with bone deep exhaustion and a constant undercurrent of affection… for the child, for each other, and, Castiel was startled to realize, for him as well. Castiel took a deep breath and slowly, gradually, felt himself start to relax.

******

Sam gave up on coaching Castiel through his testimony hours later, which Castiel felt was probably for the best. The problem they kept running into was that Castiel didn’t really agree with the answers that Sam wanted him to give, though he tried his best to do as Sam asked. Unfortunately, it turned out that Castiel wasn’t really that impressive of an actor. In the end, Sam decided he’d just try his best to work things so that Castiel didn’t have to take the stand at all.

Castiel managed to escape to the woods when Sam realized that Julie and her parents were due to arrive at any moment and decided that it might be a good idea for Castiel to make himself scarce, especially as Dean had yet to return. Castiel gladly took his leave, relieved that he no longer had to look upon Sam’s disappointed face as he tried and failed to recite the testimony Sam had worked so hard on developing.

The air was cool under the cover of the trees, away from the sun. After looking around to ensure he was alone, Castiel shed his T-shirt and allowed his wings to manifest. He didn’t take flight, even though he yearned to after so many years. There was a part of him that didn’t believe he’d be able to fly if he tried, and so he kept his feet planted firmly on the ground and turned in the direction of the rushing water.

When John had owned the property, he’d maintained several trails through the woods. Dean had let things become rather overgrown over the years, but it was still no trouble for Castiel to locate his favorite path. He followed it until he reached the creek, at which point he stepped off of the trail into the dense underbrush.

It wasn’t long before he reached a small clearing surrounded by a ring of large elm trees. The trees had been a little smaller during Castiel’s youth, but nothing else had changed. A mixture of soft grass and rich, purple violets cushioned the ground; which, unlike the rest of the woods so close to the creek, was surprisingly dry.

When standing in the center of the tree ring, Castiel could spread his wings as wide as possible and fall just short of brushing against the wide trunks of the trees. This was the one place he’d never shared with Dean when they’d been young, the one place he came when he wanted to be alone.

Castiel sat leaning back against the trunk of the largest tree in the ring. He rested his arms against his raised knees and brought his wings around in front of him. The sun filtering through the trees spilled over the glossy black feathers in an irregular, dappled pattern. Castiel noted that he could no longer tell the new feather growth from the old, though some parts of his wings were still a little stiff and tender. He’d healed, and even with the evidence right in front of him, he could scarcely believe it.

Castiel closed his eyes. Healing Adam hadn’t drained him as much as he’d thought it would, but it was still a huge expenditure of grace. He was surprised at how easy it was to slip into the meditative state that angels utilized when they were injured and needed to heal, or during the nights to avoid disturbing their human owners. Castiel hadn’t meditated since John had sold him. His years with Crowley had been spent in a drug-induced fog, when he wasn’t being used to do Crowley’s dirty work or being punished by Alastair.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, though judging by the elongated shadows over his wings, it had been quite some time. He wasn’t initially sure what it was that had brought him back to awareness, but then he heard it again, and realized that he was no longer alone.

Castiel shifted his wings back into invisibility and started to get to his feet.

“Hey, bro,” said Gabriel, stepping into the circle of trees.

“Gabriel,” said Castiel, easing himself back down. “What are you doing here?”

Gabriel didn’t answer right away, busy settling himself down against the trunk of the tree next to Castiel’s. When several moments passed without a word from Gabriel, Castiel tried again.

“Gabriel?”

Gabriel looked down at his folded hands and sighed.

“I think I’m about to be relinquished,” he said.

“You told me that you liked living with Aaron,” said Castiel, confused.

“I did,” said Gabriel. He sighed again. “I do. But the last time we visited here I said some things that I probably shouldn’t have.”

Castiel closed his eyes.

“What did you say?”

“If Dean hadn’t been such an ass, none of this would ever have happened,” said Gabriel.

“Don’t blame Dean,” said Castiel before he could stop himself.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.

“And why shouldn’t I? He’s the one who started this whole mess with the shitty way he was treating you when you first got here.”

“He was doing his best,” said Castiel. “Dean is a good man.”

“But he is just a man,” said Gabriel. “A human. And I’m not sorry I said those things to him, even if Aaron does decide to get rid of me because of it. He needed to hear it.”

“What makes you think Aaron is going to relinquish you?” asked Castiel. “Did he actually say so?”

Gabriel hesitated.

“Not yet,” he said. “But ever since that day he’s been tiptoeing around me like I’m a ticking time-bomb. And today he just up and decided to stop by. When he got to the house, he said he needed to speak to Dean, and told me to come find you.”

“Dean is at the house?” said Castiel, his feelings an odd mixture of relief and anxiety.

“Of course he is,” said Gabriel. “Along with his sasquatch of a brother and said brother’s mate and offspring. Samsquatch said you were out in the woods, and that’s when Aaron suggested I join you.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean that you are going to be given up,” said Castiel.

“That’s exactly what it means! You think I don’t know the signs after 4 relinquishments?”

Gabriel slumped down against his tree.

“Is it possible not to regret doing something, but to still be sorry that it happened?” he asked.

Castiel didn’t know how to respond. He thought of the previous night. How he’d enjoyed the taste of Dean’s lips and the feel of his body pressed along the length of his own. He didn’t regret one moment of what had happened that night… but he hated that he’d made Dean so uncomfortable.

“Yes,” said Castiel. “It is.”

Gabriel jumped up and began pacing the length of the clearing.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “What’s done is done. Dean’ll never be able to place me after this. Maybe I could go to one of those free colonies to the North. Just imagine, Castiel. An entire settlement of angels. Free angels, with no humans around, ever. Sounds like paradise, doesn’t it? As close to heaven as we can possibly get on this godforsaken rock.”

Gabriel’s voice was full of false cheer as he fleshed out his fantasy while avoiding the topic of what was most likely to happen to him in the event of his relinquishment. Castiel played along and tried to imagine it. The idea of being completely free and unbound fascinated him, but the thought of being without Dean also filled him with dread.

“Would you really not care at all if you never saw Aaron again?” he asked.

Gabriel stopped his frenetic pacing and stood very still in the center of the circle of trees. He traced the edge of his collar with a fingertip.

“After everything you’ve been through at the hands of humans, you still cling to this notion of a bond between us and them. Why?”

Before Castiel could formulate a response, Gabriel winced and scrunched his eyes shut. Castiel leaned toward him in concern, but Gabriel waved him off.

“I’m fine,” he said, his body slowly relaxing.

“Was it Aaron?” asked Castiel. “You can hear his prayers?”

Gabriel snorted.

“I doubt Aaron even realizes what he’s doing is praying. He just thinks it’s a convenient way to communicate when I’m not in the immediate vicinity.”

“Be that as it may,” said Castiel, “It still means that the two of you have—“

“It means nothing,” said Gabriel curtly.

Castiel stood up and moved closer to his brother.

“Gabriel…”

“He wants me back at the house.”

“I can go with you,” said Castiel.

Gabriel shook his head.

“No,” he said, his smile wide but not reaching his eyes. “You stay. I’ll need some time to get my room in the dormitory ready before I receive visitors. I wonder if Dean found the porn I stashed out there last time.”

“If this relinquishment actually happens, you’ll stay at the house,” said Castiel, forgetting, for a moment, that where Gabriel stayed wasn’t his decision to make. “Your pornography can stay in the dorms.”

Gabriel winked.

“Buzzkill,” he said, and then sobered a little.

“About tomorrow,” said Gabriel. “No matter where I end up… I’ll be at the trial. You can count on that.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if that was such a good idea, especially if things turned out not to end well. He didn’t want Gabriel getting into even more trouble.

Gabriel noticed his silence.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, completely serious, now.

“One way or the other, it will all be over soon,” said Castiel with a shrug.

“Right,” said Gabriel. “But that’s not quite what I asked….”

“You should go,” said Castiel. “It isn’t right to keep your master waiting after he’s prayed to you.”

“He’s probably not even my master anymore.”

“Still. You should go.”  

Gabriel held Castiel’s gaze for a long moment, then nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you back at the house. We’ll have a pre-trial party and raid Dean’s liquor stash. Keep those good vibes going. And if I know Dean, he’ll have more than enough booze to get two angels drunk.”

“Alright,” said Castiel, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to. It seemed to make Gabriel happy, though, and he left the clearing with a smile on his face.

Once Gabriel was out of sight, Castiel reclaimed his spot at the base of the tree and closed his eyes. Truth be told, he had been worried about the trial right up until Gabriel had dropped the news about his possible relinquishment. Suddenly, that took precedence.

Angels who were unable to maintain a long-term placement were generally deemed to be irredeemable and were summarily executed. Gabriel had narrowly escaped that fate after his last failed placement because Dean had intervened. Castiel had a feeling that, especially since Dean had already sacrificed so much on Castiel’s behalf; that he wouldn’t be able to be of much help to Gabriel this time around.

Castiel clenched his fists. Gabriel didn’t deserve death. For all his contempt of humans, he’d never even thought of hurting one, and he’d certainly never committed murder. No, those sins against humanity were Castiel’s. Castiel was the one who deserved death. And yet he was the one for whom the Winchesters were putting forth so much effort to save. It wasn’t right. Not when there were so many other more deserving angels out there.

But Castiel couldn’t think of a way to fix it. Not without hurting Dean and Sam even more. And that was out of the question.

******

Castiel opened his eyes to find that the late afternoon shadows had given way to twilight. He could hear movement just outside of the circle of trees, and knew it was Dean even before he spoke.

“Cas?” called Dean softly, a few seconds later.

“Over here, Dean,” said Castiel, scrambling to his feet.

He heard some cursing and some thrashing around as Dean fought his way through the thick overgrowth before he finally managed to stumble between the elm trees. Castiel reached out a hand to steady him.

“Damn, Cas, how did you even find this place?” asked Dean.

Castiel removed his hand once Dean regained his balance, and peered over Dean’s shoulder.

“Is Gabriel with you?” he asked.

“No. He and Aaron left a while ago.”

Castiel tried not to let his relief get the better of him, in case he’d misheard.

“Then Gabriel’s not… he hasn’t been…”

“What, relinquished?” said Dean. “Of course not. What makes you say that?”

“Gabriel thought it might be the case when Aaron requested a meeting with you and your brother in private,” said Castiel.

“Gabriel’s a little paranoid,” said Dean.

“With good reason,” said Castiel, quietly.

Dean sighed.

“Yeah,” he said. “But Gabriel’s not entirely innocent in all of this, either. Aaron isn’t to blame for everything that’s happened to him in the past. Both of them need to put some effort into making this placement work. Aaron’s willing. He’s not ready to give up.”

Castiel noticed that Dean didn’t say anything about Gabriel’s thoughts on giving up or not, but decided not to press. For all Gabriel’s insistence that he wanted nothing to do with humans, and that Aaron was a necessary evil to ensure Gabriel’s survival, Castiel wasn’t entirely convinced that there wasn’t more to the relationship than Gabriel let on. Castiel wondered if Gabriel would be more willing to put forth effort into maintaining his placement if he knew the extent of Aaron’s dedication.

Dean held up a misshapen lump balled up in his left hand, cutting Castiel’s musings short.

“I found this on the trail,” he said with a pointed look at Castiel’s bare chest.

It was the T-shirt Castiel had taken off upon entering the woods. The T-shirt Dean had lent him, with the offhand remark that it was one of his favorites. And now it was covered in mud and leaves. Castiel didn’t remember dropping it, only taking it off to free his wings.

Suddenly, everything that had happened the previous evening and early that morning came rushing back, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at Dean; ashamed that on top of everything else that had happened, he had to add to it by being careless with something that was important to Dean.

“Hey,” said Dean, moving a step closer, “Are you okay? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

Castiel shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, still unable to raise his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Dean.

“I didn’t intend to drop it,” said Castiel, unable to stop himself from apologizing for the shirt when what he really wanted to apologize for was for making Dean so uncomfortable last night that he’s driven him away from his own home for the better part of the day.

“I can fix it,” said Castiel.

He reached out and lightly touched the fabric with the tip of one finger; restoring it to the condition it had been when it was new. He still didn’t dare lift his head, and didn’t realize that Dean had moved until he felt Dean’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s just a shirt,” said Dean. “Not that I don’t appreciate you fixing it, but Cas, but what I’m really worried about here is you. It’s getting dark and cold, and you’ve been out here for hours. Are you alright?”

Castiel hadn’t noticed the chill brought by the dusk until Dean’s warm palm against his skin provided contrast. He shivered.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m sorry—“

“Stop apologizing,” said Dean. “You didn’t do anything wrong. We should get back, though. It was treacherous enough coming out here, and the walk back will be even worse with no light.”

“Walking back will not be necessary,” said Castiel, finally forcing his gaze level with Dean’s.

Confusion was evident on Dean’s face.

“You—were you planning on staying out here all night?” asked Dean.

“No,” said Castiel.

He stepped to the side, and Dean’s hand slid off of his shoulder. Castiel raised his own hand and took a deep breath. He allowed his wings to materialize because it would be easier for this first flight, and because it was Dean. The two of them locked eyes, and Castiel waited for Dean’s quick nod before dropping his hand onto Dean’s shoulder and pushing off of the ground for the first time in twenty years.

******

They landed smoothly next to the tree that the hammock was attached to. Dean turned around in a full circle, taking in his surroundings. As soon as he got his bearings, he threw the T-shirt in his hand high in the air and let out a whoop.

“You did it!” he cried. “Cas, you flew!”

Castiel felt the corners of his mouth curve up in a smile, an almost involuntary response to seeing Dean so happy. Dean laughed at the sight, and reached out to draw Castiel into a giant bear hug. Before he could think about it, Castiel returned the embrace, wrapping both his arms and his wings securely around Dean.

Dean cleared his throat as he pulled away. Castiel dropped his arms, but his wings took a little longer to unwind themselves, mostly because Castiel didn’t want to give up the contact. Dean stood perfectly still and watched as Castiel maneuvered his wings into position, folded up against his back.

“Sorry,” said Castiel. “My wings seem to be a little slow in responding. Perhaps there is some residual fatigue from the flight.”

It was a lie, and judging by the expression on Dean’s face, he wasn’t buying it. Castiel’s acting skills hadn’t improved in the 7 hours since he’d left Sam.

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel, again. He was apologizing for his wings, for the misunderstanding, for being a burden… for everything.

Dean continued to stare at him, seconds turning into minutes.

“Sam told me about your wings,” he said, finally. “When they appeared that night, when you were having that nightmare, he told me….” Dean trailed off.

Castiel closed his eyes, waiting for what was about to come next.

“Is it true?” asked Dean.

“Yes,” said Castiel. “Yes, but Dean, it doesn’t mean that you have to… I never meant for you to… I’m sorry. Last night I just got… carried away.”

“ _You_ got carried away?”

“It won’t happen again,” said Castiel, hanging his head. “I promise.”

He turned to make his way to the hammock. Dean stepped in front of him.

“Cas,” he said. “Come on, Cas. Look at me.”

Castiel slowly looked up, until his eyes met Dean’s.

“Last night was awesome,” said Dean.

“But you stopped,” said Castiel. “You ran away.”

“Because I didn’t want to take advantage of you,” said Dean. “After all you’ve been through, I thought the last thing you’d want was for some douchey human to be all over you.”

“You are not douchey,” said Castiel. “You are not taking advantage. And I rather liked it when you were all over me.”

He flared his wings out slightly, annoyed to feel the blush creeping up his neck again. Dean ran one hand over the feathers of the wing closest to him.

“Sam says that this type of relationship doesn’t exist between angels and humans,” said Dean, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Castiel closed the distance between them, his wing pushing up into Dean’s hand.

“I believe it was you who said that, my whole life I’ve been the exception to every rule…”

“So why stop now,” finished Dean, and Castiel leaned forward and kissed him.

Dean opened up to the kiss, his tongue meeting Castiel’s; causing a spark of heat to ignite low in Castiel’s belly. His hands roamed, unbidden, over Dean’s bare arms, his clothed shoulders, the long line of his neck, and finally settled into his close-cropped hair. Dean moaned as Castiel’s fingernails scraped his scalp, and deepened the kiss.

Castiel had always thought of his body as little more than a vessel that housed his grace. During the period when his grace had dwindled to practically nothing, his body had required maintenance and had been, at best, an irritation. He’d never imagined a time when the various sensations produced by his body would actually be pleasurable.

Dean pressed their chests flush together in an effort to be able to reach more of Castiel’s wings. The fabric of Dean’s T-shirt rubbed against Castiel’s nipples, and Castiel felt something stir in his groin. He pushed his wings forward, both to give Dean more access, and to allow Castiel to reach more of Dean. The long flight feathers slid up and down Dean’s arms, and Castiel hissed in disappointment as they caught on the sleeves of Dean’s shirt.

“Please,” murmured Castiel, tugging at the offending article of clothing. “Off.”

Dean eased back just enough so that he could strip off the shirt. Castiel splayed his feathers over Dean’s bare back as soon as the shirt landed in a heap on the ground, and sealed their lips together again. Dean’s hands found the large joints of Castiel’s wings on either side, and his fingers raked through Castiel’s feathers. The sensation of skin on feathers and feathers on skin… _Dean’s_ skin… was dizzying.

Dean seemed to sense that Castiel wasn’t quite so steady on his feet, and slowly began backing up toward the hammock. Castiel moved with him, bemoaning even the slightest loss of contact as they traversed the short distance. Dean situated himself in the hammock, and tugged Castiel down beside him.

It turned out that the hammock wasn’t really designed to accommodate large, winged beings, and after a few moments Castiel shifted his wings to a different plane.

“Sorry,” he said in response to the disappointed noise that came from Dean’s throat. “They were in the way.”

“No such thing,” grumbled Dean, but Castiel, remembering the events of the previous evening, rolled his hips into Dean’s, smiling against Dean’s lips when Dean copied the motion; wings apparently forgotten. Castiel could feel himself straining against the flimsy cotton of the sleep pants he wore, and he gasped as he brushed against the hardness in Dean’s jeans.

“You good?” asked Dean, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Yes,” breathed Castiel, instinctively thrusting harder. “More.”

“Okay,” said Dean. “I got you, Cas.”

Dean’s hands traced over the muscles of Castiel’s abdomen, stopping when they reached his waist. Castiel held his breath as Dean pushed his pants and boxers down over his hips and closed his hand around him.

Castiel fumbled with Dean’s belt and zipper and managed to take hold of Dean’s erection with rather less finesse than Dean had just displayed. Dean didn’t seem to mind, though, and guided Castiel forward until they were slotted together. Dean started to move, and Castiel soon picked up his rhythm.

Castiel lost the ability to focus on anything but the pleasure building within him as they moved together for what seemed like both forever and a millisecond all at once. After a time, Dean’s hips began to stutter, and he gasped Castiel’s name through his release. Castiel followed soon after, burying his face in Dean’s shoulder to muffle his shout.

They lay there for a while afterward, not moving; just breathing through the aftershocks. As he regained the ability to think, Castiel realized that the semen that was rapidly cooling over his thighs and abdomen wasn’t really a very pleasant feeling. After a brief moment of concentration, he and Dean were both clean and dry.

“Neat trick,” came Dean’s drowsy voice from beside him. Castiel propped himself up on one elbow.

“You also,” he said, seriously, and was confused when Dean started laughing.

******

The hammock rocked gently back and forth as Castiel and Dean traded lazy kisses, illuminated only by the half moon and stars. Castiel couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt more content. Even the prospect of the trial the next day didn’t concern him. No matter what happened, he’d always have this moment with Dean to cherish.

Castiel tried to voice that thought to Dean, but Dean cut him off.

“Don’t get all chick flick-y on me,” said Dean. He gestured behind him. “Look over there.”

Castiel obliged, and could just barely make out a jumble of cinder blocks and white painted wooden boxes.

“What am I looking at?” he asked.

“Beehives,” said Dean. “That’s where I was today. I thought we needed a way to celebrate after the trial, and figured that, after we went to all of this trouble to make this place a honeybee’s paradise, we should at least give them a place to stay, too. We’ll get those set up, and we’ll be ready to receive our bee delivery next week. What do you think?”

In answer, Castiel leaned over and kissed Dean full on the mouth.

“Thank-you,” he said.

Dean grinned, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight.

“For everything,” continued Castiel. “I just wanted you to know, in case tomorrow doesn’t go well—“

“No, Cas,” said Dean. “Don’t talk like that. Everything’s going to turn out fine. Sam and I aren’t going to let anything happen to you, got it?”

Castiel couldn’t really see much of Dean’s face, but he could hear the desperation in Dean’s voice, and knew that this was what Dean needed to believe, regardless of the likelihood of that particular outcome.

“I got it,” conceded Castiel, and resettled himself at Dean’s side. He felt a slight tremor as Dean shivered in the cool night air, and after some repositioning, managed to balance awkwardly on his side in order to manifest his wings.

Dean curled into the warmth of Castiel’s feathers and rested his head on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, already three quarters of the way to sleep.

“It’s my pleasure,” said Castiel, and felt Dean plant a kiss just over his clavicle.

He stayed awake that night, electing to forego meditation just this once to watch Dean sleep. Despite what Dean wanted to believe, Castiel knew there was a real possibility that he would be executed after the trial. The idea didn’t bother him overmuch. The fact remained that Castiel had been responsible for over 100 human deaths. He knew of plenty of angels who had been executed for less.

He would miss Dean, though. And thus he felt justified for using what may well be his last hours with Dean to memorize every freckle, laugh line, and scar.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Here's the next chapter for those of you who are still reading :)
> 
> I apologize first for the length of this chapter (it's a 23,00 word monster; good grief) and secondly for the delay in getting it written and posted. I had to scrap my entire outline for the rest of this fic (for reasons I will get into in the end notes for those who are interested) and pretty much had to re-think and re-do everything.
> 
> Hope it turned out okay, and as always, let me know what did or didn't work for you!

Chapter 8

 

“Dean.”

A hand grasped his shoulder and shook. Dean groaned and burrowed further under his feathery blanket. It was too damn early, and he was too damn comfortable. A persistent buzzing noise prevented him from falling back to sleep, and Dean groped blindly for his phone, intending to fling it into the trees. The hand slipped from his shoulder and gripped his wrist before he could follow through with his plan.

“You don’t want to do that, Dean,” said Castiel.

“No?” said Dean. “Because it actually seems like a really good idea right now.”

“I believe your brother is trying to communicate,” said Castiel. “He’s come out onto the porch twice already.”

“Creeper,” muttered Dean, raising his head slightly to plant kisses along the bend of one of Castiel’s wings.

Castiel sighed, and his hold on Dean’s wrist loosened as the rest of his body relaxed. Dean grinned. He drew Castiel closer with one arm as he freed the other from Castiel’s loose grasp. His phone fell, forgotten, onto the canvas between them. Dean curled his fingers and raked them through Castiel’s feathers, remembering Castiel had seemed to enjoy that particularly the previous night. Sure enough, Castiel shuddered and dropped his head to rest on Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean,” he breathed.

Dean repeated the motion, letting his eyes fall closed as Castiel began trailing open mouthed kisses up his neck and over his jaw, finally landing on his lips.

The phone buzzed again.

“Goddammit, Sam,” said Dean. The phone needed to go.

Castiel seemed to read his intent, and without removing his lips from Dean’s, managed to knock Dean’s hand away just as his fingers brushed the plastic case, snatching the phone up himself. Dean pulled away.

“You fight dirty, Cas,” he said, once he’d caught his breath. “Who knew?”

Castiel didn’t respond, busy studying the phone’s screen.

“Sam wishes us to return to the house,” he said, after a beat.

“I knew I was going to regret it when I told him and Sarah to spend the night,” said Dean. “How ‘bout we just stay out here instead?”

He returned his attention to Castiel’s wings, and was rewarded with another shaky sigh from the angel.

“That would be… very nice,” said Castiel, his breath hitching as Dean increased the pressure of his fingers.

Castiel shifted his wings, holding them at an angle to allow Dean more access. Dean lost himself in the feel and smell of the feathers, and the sound of Castiel’s quiet sighs. He was caught completely off guard when the wings suddenly disappeared from right under his hands, and he was left with an unobstructed view of Castiel’s wide, blue eyes.

“What was that for?” said Dean.

“It was becoming very difficult to think clearly,” said Castiel.

Dean chuckled.

“That’s kind of the idea, Cas.”

Dean ran a hand along the smooth skin of Castiel’s back, marveling at how just seconds earlier there had been giant wings attached right where his hand now rested.

“I would rather stay here, too,” said Castiel. He held up the phone, “But Sam has a very specific timeline, and according to this, we are supposed to leave in—“

“Lemme see that,” said Dean, taking the phone.

He looked at the time and, though he hated to admit it, Sam was right. Too much longer and they’d be late. But before he could say as much to Castiel, he felt a hand clasp onto his shoulder. He heard the faint rustle of feathers, and an instant later he and Castiel landed in the (thankfully empty) bathroom.

“You know, I could get used to—“ he began, but was cut off by Castiel slamming him against the wall and crushing their lips together.

There was nothing tentative or hesitant about that kiss. Dean couldn’t help responding in kind, teeth clicking, tongues searching, and that snap spark of energy that was Castiel’s grace buzzing just beneath the surface; the last an irrefutable reminder that Castiel wasn’t human, never had been, and never would be. The realization was as erotic as it was alien.

Dean pushed against Castiel, not to dislodge him, but to feel and touch every possible inch of him. Castiel nipped at Dean’s lower lip in response, wedging his thigh between Dean’s legs. Dean had to rear back and bite his own lip, then, because he just wasn’t as good at being quiet as Castiel was.

Castiel pulled away, and Dean slumped against the wall, breathless.

“You know,” he gasped, “It’s becoming very difficult to think clearly.”

“That’s kind of the idea, Dean,” said Castiel, and was that a _wink_? “I’ll see you downstairs.”

With that, Castiel gave a casual wave of his arm and the shower turned on, steam pouring from behind the shower curtain, and vanished. Dean didn’t have to test the water to know it was exactly the temperature he liked.

“Now you’re just showing off,” he grumbled.

******

Fifteen minutes later Dean made his way downstairs, dressed save for his shoes, which he held in one hand. He started to cross the hallway to the kitchen, but stopped at the sound of Sam’s voice.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Cas,” he said, and Dean knew this was a conversation that he didn’t want to walk in on.

Instead, he sat down on the bottom stair and began putting his shoes on. Was it his fault that he could still hear voices from the kitchen? Not at all.

“You do not have to worry,” said Castiel.

“But after everything that happened to you,” said Sam, “Physical intimacy… especially with a human… it has to be a little scary.”

“It’s not scary. Because it’s _Dean_.”

Dean felt a small surge of anger at Sam. He knew the guy just had Castiel’s best interests at heart, but it’s not like Dean would ever dream of hurting Castiel. Not in a million years.

“O-okay, then,” said Sam. “But what does this actually mean? Are you two… mated?”

Dean leaned forward; that was something he’d started thinking about after Castiel had left him in the bathroom. Castiel took so long to answer that Dean began to wonder if he intended to at all. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Castiel spoke.

“My body acts as though we are, in some respects. Technically, though, a grace bond must exist in order for a mating to be official.”

“And that’s impossible, because Dean doesn’t have a grace. Because he’s human,” said Sam.

“Even if it were possible, that’s not something I would ever ask of Dean. Not ever,” said Castiel.

Dean frowned at the vehemence in his tone. Castiel seemed to be getting awfully worked up over something that was impossible. Dean got to his feet, deciding that it would be a good time to stop this conversation before Sam started asking about positions.

“Look here,” said Dean, holding out his hands and making a slight bow as he entered the kitchen. “All of this and plenty of time to spare.”

Castiel looked up from Adam, who was sleeping in his arms, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.

“Dean, you look… different,” he said.

Dean straightened, one hand drifting to his tie. It felt too tight, ties always felt too tight.

“Good different, or bad different?” Dean asked.

Sam looked up from the papers he’d been organizing at the kitchen table and glanced back and forth between the two of them, clearly amused.

“Cas, is this the first time you’ve seen Dean in a suit?”

Castiel nodded, his eyes still fixed on Dean.

“Do… do you like it?” asked Dean.

Castiel nodded again. Dean broke into a grin and sent a slow, lascivious wink in Castiel’s direction.

“Gross, Dean!” exclaimed Sam, just as Sarah entered the room, fastening an earring.

“Okay, I’m ready. Thanks for taking care of Adam for me, Castiel.”

“Of course,” said Castiel, handing the baby back to his mother.

Sam finished stacking his papers and tucked them carefully into his briefcase. Sarah got Adam settled into his baby carrier, and slung his diaper bag over her shoulder.

“I’m going to get him strapped into the car,” said Sarah, and hurried outside.

Sam followed more slowly, signaling for Dean to accompany him into the hallway.

“What’s up?” asked Dean when Sam paused in the entryway. “Plan’s still the same, right? You and Sarah are going to head out first to set up, and also because it’ll look more professional if we arrive separately, right?”

“Yeah, that’s still the plan,” said Sam, then lowered his voice. “I just wanted to tell you to be… careful. With Cas.”

“Careful? Well, it’s not like I’m planning on losing him between here and the courthouse.”

Cue patented Sam bitchface.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Sam. “I mean, what you guys are doing with your… relationship. Be careful.”

“You heard him, Sammy, he’s fine.”

Sam’s bitchface became even more pronounced.

“Yeah, I heard him,” he said. “How did you?”

Dean shrugged.

“I was sitting on the stairs putting my shoes on earlier, and I kinda overheard.”

“Eavesdropping? That’s low.”

“Putting my shoes on,” emphasized Dean. “And I didn’t even need to hear it, anyway. I can tell just by the way he acts. This morning, for example, in the bathroom—“

“No details, Dean!” said Sam, his voice rising.

Dean raised his hands in supplication, not able to stop the grin spreading over his face. Sam regained his composure, cleared his throat, and spoke again, his voice much quieter.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m not happy for you, because I am. And Cas looks a million times better than he did even yesterday, so I know that this is good for him. But you still need to be careful, Dean. I’ve practically memorized that book of Alastair’s by now, and what he’s been through—“

“I know what he’s been through,” said Dean. “I would never hurt him.”

“You wouldn’t hurt him deliberately,” said Sam. “But you’ve hurt him before without intending to. That’s why all I’m saying is that you should be careful.”

The reminder hit Dean like a blast of cold water, and he felt the smile slide off of his face. Sam was right. He had hurt Castiel in the past.

“I’m not saying that what the two of you are doing is wrong,” said Sam. “But there’s no precedent for this kind of relationship. I’ve never heard of an angel and human willingly being together like this. Cas even seems confused about some aspects of it, so I’m just going to say again—“

“Be careful,” supplied Dean. “I got it. I will.”

Sam gave a small, relieved, smile.

“Okay,” he said. “Sarah and I are going to get going. Make sure Cas is ready and head out in a few.”

“You mean you didn’t tell him?” said Dean.

Sam looked away.

“I didn’t get a chance,” he said.

“Or you’re a coward,” said Dean. “Great. Now I have to be the bad guy.”

“It’ll probably be better coming from you anyway,” said Sam.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Maybe that kind of news would be better coming from him. He still didn’t want to have to be the one to deliver it, though.

“Fine,” said Dean. “We’ll see you later.”

He waited until Sam had driven away in a cloud of dust before heading back into the kitchen. Castiel stood at the sink with two steaming mugs of black coffee at his elbow, in the process of rinsing out the coffee pot. Dean leaned against the doorjamb and watched Castiel’s quick, efficient movements, his muscles rippling over his bare back as he reached over to set the pot aside to dry. Castiel moved to dry his hands on the dishtowel, and Dean crossed the kitchen and came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist. Hyper alert since his conversation with Sam, Dean scrutinized Castiel’s response, looking for any hint of discomfort or fear.

Castiel leaned into him, his hands coming to rest lightly on Dean’s forearms, his body completely free of tension. Dean pressed a kiss onto the soft skin at the nape of Castiel’s neck and breathed in Castiel’s unique, clean but not quite human, scent.

“I made coffee,” said Castiel.

“Mmmm,” murmured Dean.

Coffee sounded good, but not as good as staying right where he was, with Castiel’s unruly mass of hair tickling his ear and his warm skin beneath Dean’s lips. The tips of Castiel’s fingers lightly dragged back and forth between Dean’s wrists and elbows, setting his nerve endings tingling and making him want to do nothing more than hold Castiel even tighter.

For if he kept hold of Castiel, if they didn’t move from that spot in the kitchen, then Dean could protect him. The minute they stepped into the courtroom, Dean would no longer have any say over Castiel’s fate. And though he wouldn’t entertain even a suggestion that things may not go well from either Sam or Castiel, the fact remained that the image of Castiel, completely trapped and bound and about to be executed at the hands of a stranger had been invading Dean’s thoughts more and more often of late. Especially within the last twelve hours.

Castiel eased himself away from Dean just enough so that he could turn around and bring them face-to-face. Castiel’s arms looped around Dean’s back, coming to rest low on his waist, mirroring Dean’s hold. Castiel leaned forward and dropped a soft kiss at the corner of Dean’s lips.

“You are troubled,” he said, and Dean couldn’t decide whether to flat out deny it or laugh at Castiel’s penchant for stating the obvious.

In the end, he did neither. Dean closed the already minute distance between them and rested their foreheads together, allowing his eyes to drift shut. Castiel’s hands moved higher up on Dean’s back, and he could feel the heat of his palms through his suit coat and shirt.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Dean,” said Castiel.

“’S my job,” said Dean, not moving or opening his eyes even when he heard the quiet swishing sound of Castiel’s wings, and felt himself become enveloped in their soft warmth.

“I’ve made my peace with whatever the outcome is today,” said Castiel. “You should, too.”

“Not gonna happen,” said Dean.

Castiel took half a step back; Dean still wrapped tightly in his wings, and brought his hands around to frame Dean’s face.

“Dean, I need you to promise me, no matter what the verdict, that you will respect the council’s decision.”

Dean started to protest, but Castiel shushed him by running a thumb over his lips.

“Please,” he said. “You and Sam have done enough. I won’t have you further risking your lives or careers for this. Respect my choice.”

Castiel’s eyes were solemn, earnest, and Dean realized that if he dismissed this one request, everything that had happened over the last few weeks would be meaningless. This was the true test of whether or not Dean was worthy of Castiel’s trust. Dean unwound his arms from Castiel’s waist and gently guided Castiel’s hands away from his face, before twining their fingers together.

“You cannot save everyone, my friend,” murmured Castiel. “Though you try.”

Dean wet his dry lips and opened his mouth to speak; but was unable to get the words past the lump in his throat. His nod of assent was tiny, and for a second Dean was afraid that Castiel had missed it. But then he felt Castiel’s wings tighten around him, and knew that Castiel understood.

The buzz of Dean’s phone sounded before anything else could be said or done, and Dean broke away from Castiel, fishing deep into his pocket. He discovered a text from Sam, most likely sent by Sarah, telling them that they should leave the house in the next five to ten minutes. He cleared his throat.

“It’s getting to be about that time,” said Dean.

“Alright,” said Castiel. His wings had vanished.

“I’ve got some clothes for you upstairs,” said Dean.

Castiel nodded, and led the way. Dean followed, and he meant to tell Castiel before he could see, but suddenly they were in Castiel’s bedroom and Castiel stopped short, staring at the black garments neatly folded on his bed.

“I’m sorry,” said Dean hurriedly. “I should have mentioned it earlier, but I… there was other stuff going on. You need to be dressed traditionally for this, Cas. We need to make a good impression on the council, and they won’t understand if they see you in anything but the slave uniform.”

“Yes,” said Castiel. “Of… of course. If you could just give me a moment?”

“I’m sorry,” said Dean, again.

Castiel didn’t seem to be as panicked as he had been the last time they’d tried this, at least, though his face was pale and when he reached out to pick up the pants, his hand shook.

“I’ll be fine,” said Castiel.

“Okay,” said Dean. “But there’s one more thing. You… you have to wear a collar, also. A real one. Chuck Shurley would be able to spot a fake a mile away, so it has to be legit. It’s just for today, just for the trial—“

Castiel held up a hand, cutting Dean off.

“I understand,” he said. “I would just a like a moment. Please.”

“Right, sorry,” said Dean, backing out of the room. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be right out here.”

Dean retrieved the collar from his bedroom while he waited for Castiel, cursing both himself and Sam for not preparing him for this sooner. Dean leaned against the wall a few paces away from Castiel’s room, trying to stay close and give him privacy at the same time. The strip of leather dangling from his fingers felt as though it weighed a ton, even though it was one of the weakest powered collars one could get away with on a fully mature angel.

A few minutes later, Castiel’s door opened with a quiet click. He emerged from the bedroom, looking every bit the traditional slave, dressed in shapeless, colorless, clothes; feet, bare. Dean’s stomach lurched at the sight, and he was glad they hadn’t had time for breakfast. He held up the collar, noticing that his time, it was his hand that was shaking.

Castiel noticed, too.

“It’s alright, Dean,” he said, softly, and turned his back so that Dean could fasten the collar around his neck.

The instant the buckle was secure, Castiel gasped, his hands reflexively flying up to the collar.

“What’s wrong?” asked Dean, moving in front of Castiel and gripping his shoulder with one hand.

Castiel’s eyes widened, and he staggered forward a little as he tried to catch his breath. Dean steadied him with a hand to his chest.

“Is it the collar?” said Dean. “Do you need it off?”

“No,” wheezed Castiel, backing up so that he could lean against the wall.

Dean hovered at his side, feeling useless. A minute passed, and gradually Castiel’s breathing normalized, and he straightened.

“What the hell was that?” demanded Dean, worry giving his tone a sharp edge that he hadn’t intended.

“It’s nothing,” said Castiel, gingerly probing the collar with a fingertip.

“It didn’t look like nothing,” said Dean.

Castiel sighed.

“I’ve been without a collar for quite some time,” he said. “The feeling is something I must acclimate to once again.”

“You were in pain,” said Dean, focusing on Castiel’s tense, haggard expression. “You’re still in pain. It’s a low powered collar, it shouldn’t be hurting you like this.”

“The binding of an angel’s grace is not benign,” said Castiel with a shrug. “We learn to live with it, but it is still a shock, initially.”

Dean blanched. All this time, he’d had no idea. He’d never actually witnessed an angel being collared for the first time. Fledgling angels received their first collars long before they were transferred to homes or training facilities. The realization that every angel Dean had encountered, save those he and Sam had fitted with false collars, were in some measure of pain every day of their existence sickened him.

“I’ll take it off as soon as the trial is over,” said Dean. “It’ll just be a few hours, and then I’ll remove it, I swear.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” said Castiel. “You need not concern yourself. I am already becoming used to the sensation.”

Dean couldn’t speak. His conversation with Sam not twenty minutes earlier came rushing back to him, and it hit him with the force of an anvil that Sam had been right. Here he was, hurting Castiel in ways he’d never even imagined.

“Dean.”

Castiel was suddenly right there, directly in front of him with virtually no space between them.

“Dean,” he said again, “I realize that all of this is unavoidable. I do. Now, we must leave or we’ll be late. Is there anything else that needs to be done or… worn?”

Dean didn’t miss the way Castiel’s voice broke slightly on that last word, and he wished more than anything that he didn’t have to utter his next words.

“Cuffs,” said Dean, quietly. “When you’re in the courtroom, you need be restrained with Enochian engraved handcuffs. But I won’t put those on until the absolute last second, okay? Not until just before we get out of the car. Does… does it hurt to wear those, too?”

“No.”

Dean looked away. Castiel was a terrible liar.

******

By the time Dean pulled the Impala up in front of the courthouse, a crowd of protesters had gathered. Their shouts for justice, for Castiel’s death, could be easily heard inside the car, even with all of the windows closed. Dean recognized a few members of the police force patrolling at the edge of the crowd, keeping them well back from the door of the little annex off of the main building that was reserved for angel related business. Dean couldn’t remember the last time a trial had been held there.

Angels who broke the law tended to be dealt with long before a trial could even be organized.

“We’re here,” said Dean.

Castiel stared out the window, and didn’t respond. Dean followed his line of sight to a poster one of the protesters was holding high above her head. On the poster was a blown up photograph of a man surrounded by a group of school age children, one of whom was perched on his shoulders.

“Evan Hudson,” murmured Castiel, gazing at the poster, transfixed.

“Don’t pay any attention to them,” said Dean.

He popped open the glove compartment and withdrew the handcuffs. Castiel hadn’t given any sign of hearing Dean speak, but he did turn away from the window at the sound of clinking metal.

“Whenever you’re ready,” said Dean.

Castiel nodded and held out his hands. Dean carefully adjusted the bracelets so that they fit loosely on his wrists.

“Thank-you,” said Castiel.

His hands were shaking.

“Don’t thank me for cuffing you, Cas,” said Dean, though he knew that what Castiel was actually thanking him for was for trying to make the cuffs as comfortable as possible. It still sounded wrong.

Castiel looked away, and Dean knew he was staring at that damn sign again; the one with the picture of Evan Hudson on it, and that was what was bothering him, more so than the handcuffs. Dean coved Castiel’s hands with his own and lightly traced the lines of Castiel’s palms with his thumbs. He wanted to do more, to comfort him with an embrace, a kiss, but that was impossible with the crowd peering at them through the windows.

Another text came through from Sam, asking for their ETA.

“We should go in,” said Dean. “Sam’s getting a little antsy.”

Castiel tilted his head and squinted at Dean in confusion.

“Anxious,” Dean amended. “He’s getting anxious.”

The trembling had lessened, some, and Dean reluctantly let go of Castiel’s hands so that they could exit the Impala. Immediately, the crowd surged forward, and Dean cursed whoever had designed the building for not adding a back entrance onto the annex. The police fought to control the crowd, and Dean placed a protective hand on the small of Castiel’s back, hurrying him along.

The noise of the crowd was immense, though with them all screaming at the same time, it was impossible to hear actual words, for which Dean was grateful. He ducked his head as something whizzed past his ear, and increased their pace, managing to reach the door before any of the hurled missiles were able to make contact.  

Once inside, Dean relaxed a little. He could still hear the shouts of the crowd outside, but on the other side of the door, things were comparatively peaceful. The few people milling around stared, but otherwise didn’t react to their presence. The annex’s small entryway led directly into the courtroom. Dean guided Castiel to where Sam and Sarah were set up at the defense table.

“Hey, guys,” said Sarah with a warm smile as they approached.

Adam cooed in his baby carrier from the row of chairs just behind the table, waving his arms and kicking his legs when Castiel entered his field of vision. Castiel bushed a finger against the baby’s cheek, taking care of keep the bracelets and the chain that connected them out of reach. The pinched, pained expression that had marred his face from the moment Dean had buckled the collar relaxed slightly.

Dean rounded the wooden rail that separated the defense table from the rest of the chairs and went up to Sam, who was bent over a pile of folders on the table, frantically sorting and resorting them. Sam didn’t look up as Dean paused at his side, though his movements became more frenetic. Dean caught Sarah’s eye and and raised his eyebrows. He’d seen Sam in court dozens of times before, and he’d always been confident, calm, and unflappable.

Sarah inclined her head slightly in the opposite direction of the courtroom door, and Dean looked up to see his father sitting in the far corner of the room, eyes fixed resolutely on the currently empty witness chair and council box at the front of the courtroom.

“Dammit,” muttered Dean. He rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“How long has he been here?”

“He arrived about 10 minutes before you did,” said Sam.

“Did you talk to him?” asked Dean.

“No,” said Sam. “I was too busy. And he hasn’t moved from that spot. Did you know he was coming?”

“Of course not,” said Dean. “The last I talked to him was when I told him I wasn’t going to make the Florida trip this year.”

Sam pursed his lips and went back to shuffling his folders and papers.

“Hey,” said Dean, giving his shoulder a shake, “You always said that you didn’t care if he ever found out that you did this kind of work, right?”

“I don’t care,” said Sam. “In a way, him knowing makes things a lot simpler. But there’s a difference between him knowing and him sitting 30 feet away from me watching my every move.”

“You want me to have him removed?”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that unless he’s actually done something disruptive or threatening.”

Dean looked over at John again, and saw that he was now watching Castiel and Adam, his lip curling in disgust. That seemed to fall under the category of threatening in Dean’s mind, but he knew it wouldn’t fly as a legitimate reason to have the man removed from the room. It did make Dean a little anxious that Castiel was beyond his reach, however.

“Cas,” whispered Dean, leaning over the railing. “Why don’t you come over here and sit down before they bring the council in.”

Castiel made his way over to the defense table, dropping into the chair Dean indicated, folding his hands in his lap beneath the tabletop. Dean started to scoot around Sam, to the third chair at the table, but Sam stopped him.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting down,” said Dean. “The thing’s about to start.”

“You can’t sit here,” said Sam. “You’re a witness, not part of the defense.”

“I’m both,” said Dean.

“Go sit next to Adam and watch him,” said Sam. “Sarah and I will take care of everything up here.”

“The hell I will,” said Dean. “I’m not a damn babysitter. I’m staying right here with Cas.”

Sam’s hand shot out and gripped the front of Dean’s jacket, turning him away from the growing crowd in the room.

“Listen,” he hissed. “I am in charge here, and I don’t have time for your overprotective bullshit with Cas right now. Everything has to be perfect if we’ve got a chance in hell of winning this thing, and I absolutely cannot have one of my most important witnesses, the police officer who found him, who saved him, and who is going to get up on that stand and vouch for his character, breaking protocol by appearing to be orchestrating defense tactis. Now. Go. Sit. Down.”

“Fine,” said Dean. Sam was right, Dean knew he was, but that didn’t mean Dean had to like it.

Dean crouched down next to Castiel to tell him where he was going to be for the duration of the trial, but was distracted by a woman walking by the defense table. She glared at Castiel, who wasn’t even looking at her but was studying the shiny finish of the tabletop, and dropped a crumpled piece of paper in front of him.

Dean made a grab for the paper, but Castiel got to it first, smoothing it out flat. It was Evan Hudson’s obituary, which included a picture of him and his wife on their wedding day. Dean craned his neck to find the woman who’d left the paper, and saw her taking her seat in the middle of the courtroom. He recognized her from the crowd outside. She’d been the one holding the poster displaying Evan Hudson and the group of children. Dean also recognized her from the photograph in front of him. She was Evan Hudson’s widow.

Dean glowered at her from his position next to Castiel, and she calmly held his gaze, her beautiful face holding no trace of the experimental treatment that had saved her life at the eventual cost of her husband’s. Dean looked away first, and snatched the paper out of Castiel’s hands, shoving it deep into the pocket of his jacket.

“I’ll be right over there,” he said, pointing to where Sarah was tucking Adam’s blanket more securely around him.

Castiel nodded, his attention focused on the pocket where Dean had stowed the obituary.

“Hey,” said Dean, waiting until Castiel looked up. “What happened to him, that wasn’t your fault. That’s on Crowley. That’s why we’re here, okay?”

Castiel nodded again, and turned back to face the front of the room. Dean patted his back, two quick taps that wouldn’t be misconstrued by anyone watching, and walked over to Sarah and Adam.

“I guess I’m taking over baby duty,” said Dean, trying not to sound as dickish as he felt.

Sarah gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I know it’s tough,” she said, “But Sam’s just playing the game. If we want to win, things have to look a certain way.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Dean, taking his seat and tickling Adam’s chin. “How ‘bout you, little man? You gonna be quiet while your mom works?”

“I just fed and changed him,” said Sarah. “He’ll sleep if you stop riling him up.”

“Geez, she’s tough,” said Dean, as Sarah blew Adam a kiss and took her place next to Sam at the defense table.

The door to the courtroom opened and a tall, statuesque woman with flaming red hair entered, striding purposefully over to the prosecution table and nodding curtly in Sam’s direction as she passed him. Dean had worked with Abaddon Knight frequently during his time on the police force, but this would be his first time working against her. He wasn’t looking forward to it. Abaddon was ruthless, and Dean couldn’t remember her ever having lost a case.

Forcing himself to look away from Abaddon, who had opened her briefcase and extracted a single, slim folder and set it aside without even looking at it, Dean scanned the rest of the courtroom, hoping for a distraction. He saw Julie sitting with her parents and Anna a few seats behind Abaddon. John was still acting as though his sons didn’t exist, and appeared to be studying something on his phone.

There were allies in the crowd, too, though it took Dean a moment to spot them. Aaron and Gabriel entered the room just seconds after Abaddon, and managed to find two empty seats a few rows behind Dean. Aaron caught Dean’s eye and grinned. Gabriel was uncharacteristically somber. Jo sat farther back, giving a small wave when she noticed that Dean spotted her. And there, in the very last row of the courtroom, all by himself, was Garth, who bobbed his head slightly in recognition as Dean’s eye settled upon him.

A small group of police volunteers entered the courtroom and flanked either side of the wall. Dean noticed that they were all carrying angel blades, as though Castiel was some kind of cross between Godzilla and Charles Manson. One of the volunteers, an old man that Dean had seen around the station but never really talked to, stepped up to the microphone on the witness stand.

“All rise for the Angel Ethics Council, and Council Head Chuck Shurley,” he said.

Everyone in the courtroom rose to their feet as the members of the council filed inside. The council box was situated just off to the side of the witness chair, with a larger chair on a slightly elevated platform separating the two. That chair was reserved for head of the council, and everyone remained standing while slightly built, twitchy man with a thin, brown beard took the place of honor.

“You may be seated,” he said, his voice reedy and unsteady.

Chuck hated being in front of crowds, Dean knew, but he also knew that the man was the leading angel expert in the area, and that he was eminently fair. He wouldn’t just hand them a favorable verdict, but he wouldn’t hesitate to rule that way if the evidence was presented to his liking.

Dean’s work had brought him in contact with Chuck several times, but the rest of the council members were strangers, academics, Dean suspected, who had little actual experience with angels save for their own house slaves. Almost as a single-minded entity, their eyes shifted from Castiel to the armed guards on either side of the room. They seemed wary, and Dean was more grateful than ever that Chuck was the one who would have final say over the ruling.

Chuck cleared his throat and slipped on a pair of glasses with thick, black plastic frames. He scanned the paper on the desk in front of him, and began to read.

“In this, the trial deciding the fate of the angel Castiel, who stands accused of the murders of 113 humans, we will now hear evidence and deliver a verdict. Counsel for the defense, you may now present your case.”

Sam rose from his chair, with no sign of his earlier nerves and agitation.

“Good morning,” he addressed the council, as well as the courtroom at large. “Any and all loss of human life is tragic, I think that much we can all agree on. And special care must be taken when an angel perpetrates those lives lost. We can all agree on that, also. But Castiel’s case is more than a simple matter of black and white. We need to ask ourselves, who really is responsible in the instance of an angel being used as a weapon? And can that angel, once removed from a situation that uses him in such a manner, ever again be trusted in the presence of humans? These are all questions that will be addressed today. But first, I invite you all to listen, with an open mind, to Castiel’s story.”

Sam walked back to the table and plucked a piece of paper off the top of the stack. He presented it to Chuck, who skimmed it and nodded. Sam turned to face the crowd.

“The defense calls Dean Winchester to the stand.”

Dean got to his feet, and before he could even wonder what he was supposed to do with Adam, Sarah appeared at his side to take his place, leaving Castiel alone at the defense table.

“You can’t just leave him up there,” said Dean in a low voice as Sarah edged past him.

“There are two parts to Sam’s strategy,” replied Sarah. “The first is what’s happening on the witness stand. The second is how Castiel is presented to the council. He’ll only be alone for your testimony.”

Dean didn’t argue, though he wanted to, and fought the urge to reach out to Castiel as he passed by the table on his way to the witness stand. He barely paid attention as he was sworn in, answering _I do_ when prompted, most of his focus on Castiel, sitting at attention just a few feet in front of him.

“Dean, how many years have you been on the police force?”

Dean jumped a little at the mention of his name, and Sam gave him a look that warned him to get it together.

“Going on ten years, now,” said Dean.

“And you’ve been awarded the rank of detective, is that correct?”

“Yes,” said Dean. “For the last seven years.”

“That’s an impressive accomplishment, just three years out of the academy,” said Sam, and Dean had to fight the wild urge to laugh at Sam’s formality, but he managed to hold it together.

“You also formed and now head the Angel Welfare Task force.”

“That’s right,” said Dean. “My promotion to detective coincided with my appointment as head of the Task Force.”

“So you’ve been involved in Angel Welfare for the past seven years.”

Dean nodded.

“During that time, you’ve seen a lot of angels in bad situations.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve also come across angels who were a danger to humans.”

“Yes,” said Dean, again.

“Okay,” said Sam. “We’ll get back to that. But for now, I’d like to go back a little farther, before you were on the police force. I’d like to go back to when you first met Castiel. How old were you?”

“I was six,” said Dean, risking a glance at John.

John sat stony faced, showing no emotion or recognition. Dean looked away.

“I was six,” he said again. “My parents owned a large angel training facility, and Castiel had just arrived as a fledgling. We became friends.”

“Was that normal for you?” asked Sam. “To befriend the trainees at the facility?”

“No,” said Dean. “Castiel was the only one.”

“Objection!” said Abaddon. “As riveting as the love story of a boy and his angel is, I fail to see what relevance it has to this case.”

“I’m establishing Castiel’s personality as it was before he was sold into his most recent situation,” said Sam. “Something I believe is quite relevant to the case.”

“Overruled,” said Chuck. “Please continue, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam turned back to Dean.

“What was it about Castiel that made him special? Of all of the hundreds of angels who passed through the facility, why befriend him?”

“Cas was different,” said Dean, looking down at Castiel as he spoke. “He was curious. He wanted to know everything about trees, and flowers, and animals, and humans. Mostly humans. There’s no place in training slaves for knowledge for the sake of knowledge. Angels were taught to read and write enough that they would be useful, but my parents wound always say that educating slaves is counterproductive to their actual purpose, so I used to check out books from the library and sneak them to Cas, and he’d spend his nights reading in the dormitory when he should have been meditating.”

Dean snuck a peek at John, and saw that his earlier look of impassivity had given way to something closer to anger. So he hadn’t known about the books, then. Dean had never been quite sure how Castiel had managed to hide them during John’s daily inspections, but he’d clearly done a good job. Dean continued,

“We used to explore the grounds together every chance we got. Cas taught me how to climb trees, and to swim, and to tell time just by the position of the sun. In return, I taught him to play games, and introduced him to the wonderful world of food. It didn’t seem like much, but he soaked up every new experience I could give him, like he was a sponge or something; whether I was showing him how to play kick ball, or letting him taste his first peanut butter sandwich.”

“Were you ever punished for your friendship with Castiel?” asked Sam.

“Not really,” said Dean. “But Cas would be punished for sneaking out of the dorms, or for engaging in activities that weren’t directly related to his training. We learned to do things in secret; to meet up in places that no one else knew about.”

“Was Castiel ever violent?” asked Sam.

“Not ever,” said Dean, firmly. “He was willful, which is a different thing. He didn’t see the point of following orders if there wasn’t a good reason behind them. And to Cas, _because I said so_ , didn’t count as a good reason, which gave him a reputation for being difficult. He didn’t see himself as inferior simply because he was an angel, which gave him a reputation for being uppity. He hated it when other angels were punished unjustly and stepped in on more than one occasion, taking the brunt of the punishment on himself, which gave him a reputation for being defiant. But he was never aggressive. No matter how badly he was beaten, he never tried to harm a human. The only time I ever saw him even come close to fighting back was on the day he was sold.”

A movement from John caught Dean’s eye, and he saw his father clenching his hands into fists, as though he’d like nothing more than to deliver punishment right then. Dean’s work with the Task Force was bad enough, but what he was doing now was straight up betrayal, and in addition to the anger in John’s eyes, Dean could see the hurt there, as well.

“And what happened that day?”

Sam’s question brought Dean back to earth, and Dean tore his eyes away from John.

“Cas knew he was about to be sold,” said Dean. “And he knew that he wasn’t going to be sold the traditional way, which was via auction. A private buyer was going to come to the house. Private buyers are always a little sketchy, especially when you have an angel like Castiel, who was considered hard to place. So, we snuck out during the night… not to run away, but just to make sure Cas didn’t have to spend his last night at the facility alone. My dad found us that morning, and dragged Cas back to the yard by his collar. It was… if Cas weren’t an angel, it would have killed him. The buyer was already there, and my dad shoved Cas down on his knees in front of him. The buyer, he called himself Crowley, started inspecting Cas like he was a piece of meat. He leaned over and whispered something into Cas’ ear, and that’s when Cas freaked. He would have run away, but my dad grabbed him, and Cas fought him, but he wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. He was terrified, plain and simple. Out of his mind with fear from whatever it was Crowley said to him.”

“Then what happened?”

“Dad wound up drugging Cas in the end, and when Cas was unconscious, he and Crowley threw him in the trunk of Crowley’s car. Crowley wrote out a check, and drove away.”

“How old were you?”

“I was thirteen,” said Dean. “And I don’t know if I’ve ever been that close to anyone since, human or angel.”

Instead of looking over at John, again, Dean’s eyes landed upon Castiel. The angel sat, perfectly still and straight, his cuffed hands hidden beneath the table. The only part of him that betrayed any emotion was his impossibly blue eyes staring back at Dean in shock. Dean held Castiel’s gaze and gave him a slight nod, not caring who saw or what they read into the gesture, but needing Castiel to know, once an for all, that he was important. That he meant something to Dean.

“After that, you didn’t see Castiel again for twenty years, is that correct?” said Sam, working hard to keep things on track.

“That’s right,” said Dean.

Another glance around the courtroom brought the realization that some of the attendees were dabbing their eyes with tissues. The idea that some people might be changing their views after hearing the story gave Dean more confidence, and he sat up a little straighter.

“And part of the reason why you developed the Angel Welfare Task Force was because of what happened to Castiel,” continued Sam.

“Yes,” said Dean. “I was always on the look out for him, always trying to find out who Crowley really was, and to locate his residence, but I never really thought anything would come of it. I thought Castiel was gone for good, and I focused on helping as many other angels out of bad situations as I could.”

Sam nodded and walked briskly back to the defense table, giving Castiel a reassuring smile as he picked up a large stack of papers.

“As evidenced by your record, you’ve succeeded in doing just that. It must have been quite a shock for you to come across Castiel, twenty years after you last saw him, while you were on the job; due, in no small part, to the horrifying condition—“

“Objection!” interrupted Abaddon. “Leading.”

“Sustained,” said Chuck.

“I’ll rephrase,” said Sam. He shuffled the papers he was holding, purposely taking his time before re-asking his question. His leading statement hadn’t been an accident, and even though Abaddon had objected, both the council members and the spectators in the courtroom had heard what Sam wanted them to hear. Dean held back a smile, feeling a new respect for his baby brother.

“Dean,” said Sam, “Can you tell me what you found when you were called to the residence of Fergus MacLeod on the afternoon of May 16th?”

“Well,” said Dean, “The very first thing I found out was that one of Fergus MacLeod’s aliases was Rodrick Crowley. That’s when I realized that there was a possibility that the angel I’d been called about might be Cas. I asked to see the angel, and even in as bad of shape as he was, I knew it was Cas as soon as I laid eyes on him. I was hoping that I’d made a mistake, that when I looked closer I’d find out that it wasn’t him, because even after so many years of searching, I didn’t want to find him like that. But it wasn’t a mistake.”

Dean paused, the memory of discovering Castiel in that cell and the immediate aftermath still raw enough that talking about it at all, not to mention in front of a crowded room full of people, was difficult. Another glance in Castiel’s direction revealed the angel to be staring down at the tabletop once again.

“Dean,” prompted Sam, “Can you recount for the council Castiel’s condition when you found him?”

Dean took a deep breath and began to speak. Guided by Sam’s gentle questions, Dean told the council and the court every detail of what Castiel had suffered. He managed to stay calm when Sam brought out copies of Alastair’s journal for the council members and requested that Dean discuss the contents with him.

Dean kept tabs on Castiel as well as on the rest of the crowd in the courtroom. Castiel didn’t move a muscle throughout the entirety of Sam’s presentation, but Dean could see the tension in the set of his shoulders and the way he clenched his hands beneath the table. He fought the urge to squirm in his seat, or worse, jump right off of the platform and just get Castiel as far away as possible.

Sam narrowed his eyes in warning, continuing his monologue without missing a beat, clearly seeing something of what Dean was thinking in his face. Dean looked away from Castiel and focused on the rest of the occupants of the courtroom. Of the people he’d noticed surreptitiously wiping their eyes earlier in his testimony, several were now openly crying. _Good_ , thought Dean. People needed to realize what was happening out there.

“Such a moving story.”

Dean snapped back to attention at the sound of Abaddon’s voice. While he’d been focused on the crowd, Sam had taken his seat and Abaddon had approached the witness box.

“It’s heartbreaking,” continued Abaddon as she crossed in front of Dean to stand on his right, placing herself directly in Chuck’s line of vision. “And a clever tactic, to take the focus off of what this angel has done. While it is regrettable that Castiel has been treated poorly, we cannot ignore the fact that he is responsible for the deaths of 113 humans. Killing them may not have been his idea, but he did it all the same.”

“Because he was forced to!” said Dean.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Mr. Winchester,” said Abaddon. “And really, what good does it do all of those families who were torn apart by what Castiel did to say that it wasn’t his fault, that he’s not guilty? It demeans their loss, and makes them feel as though they don’t matter, that the life of a violent angel is worth more than the lives of their loved ones.”

“Objection!” said Sam. “Ms. Knight is supposed to be cross examining the witness, not monologuing.”

“Sustained,” said Chuck. “Get on with it, Ms. Knight.”

Abaddon looked pissed at the interruption, but schooled her features almost instantly.

“Alright then,” she said. “Mr. Winchester, how do you justify lobbying for the pardoning of an angel with violent tendencies, who clearly is not trustworthy in the presence of humans?”

“I would never advocate for the pardoning of such an angel,” said Dean. “I’ve executed dangerous angels before, as my record shows. Castiel is completely trustworthy. And he has zero violent tendencies.”

Abaddon raised an eyebrow.

“Is that so?” she said. “What about the report of an incident that occurred at the police station, the only time, I might add, that this angel has been in public since he was place in your custody? I believe an officer was injured.”

Dean gritted his teeth. Goddamn Henrickson.

“The incident to which you’re referring happened only a few days after Cas was rescued. Even you have to admit, after hearing what happened to Cas while he was owned by Crowley, that it’s not surprising for him to be a little nervous around humans, and leery of being touched, correct?”

“I would never presume to know the mind of an angel,” said Abaddon smoothly. “In my experience, they are unpredictable in the best of circumstances. Please answer my question about your colleague’s injury.”

“Okay, well, like I said, it was only a few days after he’d been rescued, and Cas was—“

“I didn’t ask you to make excuses for your angel,” said Abaddon. “Just tell me the facts. What specifically was Officer Henrickson’s injury?”

“He had a first degree burn to his hand,” said Dean.

“And, from what I understand, this was caused by merely touching the angel? Just laying a hand on his shoulder, not threatening in any way?”

“Henrickson’s demeanor during the entire incident was threatening,” said Dean.

“And were you there to witness this, or is it just speculation?” said Abaddon, almost before Dean had even finished speaking.

“I observed Henrickson just a few minutes prior,” said Dean. “And his behavior would definitely be considered hostile.”

“But you weren’t in the room while all of this was happening,” said Abaddon.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“And isn’t it true that, later that same evening, Castiel attacked you?”

“Well, there was a little more to it—“

“A simple yes or no will suffice, Mr. Winchester,” said Abaddon.

“Yes,” said Dean, furious.

The only person he’d told about that night, other than Sam, had been Bobby, because Bobby had asked, and Dean felt he deserved the truth. Bobby had agreed to keep the event off of Castiel’s record, and Dean couldn’t believe he’d turn around and just tell something like that to Abaddon.

Dean scanned the occupants of the courtroom and found Bobby sitting several rows behind the prosecution table, a look of genuine confusion on his face. Dean felt momentarily better at that, but his relief didn’t last long as he realized that if Bobby hadn’t told Abaddon what had happened with Castiel, it meant that someone he worked with had been listening in on Dean’s private meetings with his boss.

Dean refocused his attention on Abaddon as she started speaking again.

“And your injuries were considerably more severe than those suffered by Officer Henrickson, correct?”

“No,” said Dean.

“May I remind you that you are under oath, Mr. Winchester.”

“No,” said Dean, again. “Because Cas healed—“

“I didn’t ask about the damage control that occurred after,” said Abaddon. “I asked you if the injuries you sustained when Castiel attacked you were more sever than a first degree burn to the hand.”

Dean threw a desperate look at Sam, silently begging him to step in. Sam gave a slight shake of his head, looking helpless. Apparently, being a bitch wasn’t exactly objection worthy.

“Mr. Winchester,” said Abaddon.

“Yes they were,” said Dean. “But—“

“That will do,” said Abaddon. “So you’ve acknowledged that this angel, responsible for 113 human deaths before being discovered by police, has attacked at least two humans while in your custody. You may argue that he was coerced into committing those previous murders, but these most recent attacks were made of Castiel’s own free will. So I say again, how do you justify putting more humans at risk by sparing this angel’s life?”

It went on like that for some time, with Abaddon shooting Dean down any time he tried to get a word in edgewise as to what had really happened during Castiel’s “attacks,” or how he knew that Castiel wasn’t dangerous and didn’t pose a threat to society. Sam intervened with objections whenever he could, but Abaddon’s questions were so carefully worded, her interactions with Dean so professional and emotionless, that most of them were overruled.

There was a reason why Abaddon was known as the Destroyer.

It was with mixed feelings that Dean vacated the witness chair after being dismissed by Chuck. On one hand, he felt as though Abaddon had demolished Sam’s entire case. On the other hand, in spite of Abaddon's best efforts, Dean had managed to get a few points across, and had noticed Chuck and the other members of the council nodding thoughtfully. He wasn’t sure it would be enough, though.

Dean tried to catch Castiel’s eye as he made his way back to his seat, but Castiel avoided his gaze. Sam gestured for him to keep moving, and Dean reluctantly complied.

“Can you at least make sure he’s okay?” Dean asked Sarah as she got up to go back to the defense table. “He looks like shit.”

“He looks exactly how a slave is supposed to look,” said Sarah. “Meek. Docile. Deferential.”

“That’s damn cold,” said Dean. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m trying to save his life, just like you are. Welcome to the real world of fighting for angels, Dean. We don’t all have an entire task force dedicated to helping us with our mission. Saving the lives of angels, freeing them, involves lying and cheating and yes, sometimes allowing a measure of suffering to achieve the goal. Now sit down, and trust that your brother knows what he’s doing.”

Dean sat next to a sleeping Adam, and watched as Sarah took her seat next to Castiel without sparing the angel a glance. Sam stood up and handed another piece of paper to Chuck. At Chuck’s nod, he turned to face the audience and said,

“The defense calls Julie Pierce as our final witness.”

Julie stood and practically skipped up to the witness stand, not a trace of nerves or anxiety on her face. Sam waited while she got settled and sworn in by a deputy, and then began walking her through her first encounter with Castiel.

Julie’s testimony was similar to the initial statement she’d given Dean on the day of Castiel’s rescue. Sam was gentle and patient with her, sticking only to events of that day, and making no mention of her later visit with Castiel at Dean’s place. Dean kept an eye on the council, trying to determine how they were responding to this new witness.

The faces of the members of the council were impassive as they listened to Julie speak. Dean sighed in frustration, resting a hand on Adam’s tummy as he stirred. The council members were known for their professionalism, and Dean really hadn’t expected anything else from them. A little hint of what they were thinking would have been nice, though.

Sam returned to his seat at the defense table after asking his last question. Julie sat up straighter as Abaddon approached, looking slightly apprehensive.

“Hello, Julie,” said Abaddon, walking right up to the stand and offering Julie her hand to shake.

Julie sent Sam a quick glance and, when Sam nodded, accepted the handshake.

“Julie, you and I have a lot in common,” said Abaddon.

“We do?”

Even as anxious as he was, Dean found himself smothering a grin at Julie’s deadpan delivery. Abaddon's smooth smile faltered just a little before she schooled her features and continued.

“Yes, we do. I think we’re both very passionate about what we believe in, and we both want to do the right thing. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” said Julie, slowly, clearly suspecting a trap but not sure what to do about it.

“We also both have had the misfortune of having family members who were murdered by angels. In fact, I was just about your age when a rogue angel broke into our house and killed my mother, my father, and my older brother. I was the only one left, just like you were after Castiel’s rampage. I know that you see me as the enemy, here, but really, I know exactly what you are going through.”

“I don’t think it’s quite the same,” said Julie, polite but firm.

She looked as though she wanted to say more, but seemed to be holding herself back. Abaddon noticed, and didn’t speak, choosing instead to wait and see what Julie had to say.

“What caused the angel to go after your family?” asked Julie.

Abaddon shook her head.

“We’ll never really know,” she said, leaning up against the witness stand and tilting her head toward Julie as though the two of them were in the midst of a private conversation. “Oh, he had a sad story, just like Castiel over there. And someone took pity on him and thought they could rehabilitate him. They couldn’t.”

“Objection!” said Sam. “Ms. Knight is discussing a case that is a decade old and has no relevance to Castiel’s situation.”

“Sustained,” said Chuck.

“What happened to the angel?” asked Julie. “Was he executed?”

“Yes, he was,” said Abaddon. “And it was unfortunate. But it was necessary to prevent further human deaths. Just like with Castiel’s case.”

“Objection!” said Sam.

Chuck opened his mouth to respond, but Abaddon didn’t even pause.

“I know it’s hard, and it can be sad, but we have to protect ourselves. It’s the same with Castiel—“

“Objection!”

“Ms. Knight,” cautioned Chuck.

If anything, Abaddon spoke faster.

“The only way to ensure the safety of the people is to execute dangerous angles like Castiel. Yes, it can be sad, but we need to look at the bigger picture. Human lives are the ones that matter.”

“Objection!” said Sam.

“Ms. Knight, this is your final warning,” said Chuck.

“Why?” said Julie.

“Because she’s dangerously close to being held in contempt,” said Chuck.

“No, not that,” said Julie, quickly adding “sir,” as Chuck raised an eyebrow. “I mean, why is it that human lives are the only lives that matter?”

“That is a discussion for another time,” said Chuck. “Ms. Knight, you may resume questioning the witness if you can remain on topic.”

“The lives of angels should matter,” said Julie, and Sam half rose from his chair.

Sarah laid a hand on his shoulder and he dropped back down, settling for shaking his head emphatically in Julie’s direction.

“What is she doing?” muttered Dean to Adam, who slept blissfully on; completely unaware of what was going on around him.

Julie ignored Sam’s attempts to dissuade her and continued.

“Angels are smart,” she said. “Smarter than people, sometimes. They can feel joy, sadness, and fear. They can feel pain. Castiel was afraid that day when he saved me. He was afraid, and he was in terrible pain, and he still disobeyed when his master told him to kill me. He disobeyed, and healed me, and helped me escape. It’s more than a lot of humans would have done. It’s more than my uncle did.”

Gasps sounded from around the courtroom, and Sam’s mouth opened and closed. He couldn’t object to his own witness, not without looking like a fool, Dean knew, but the call for angel rights, especially at the expense of one of victims, was devastating to their case. The council wouldn’t look favorably upon such blatant promotion of a cause; especially one considered to be unrelated to the purpose of the trial… which was to determine Castiel’s guilt or innocence and his risk to human society, not his rights.

Abaddon took a step back from the witness stand and smiled. She didn’t try to refute what Julie was saying, or attempt to get her back on track. Chuck cleared his throat and removed his glasses.

“That will do,” he said sternly, looking down at Julie. “I’m going to have to ask you to limit your comments to direct answers to Ms. Knight’s questions, or I will be forced to put an end to this testimony.”

“It’s alright,” said Abaddon, as though she hadn’t been the one straying off topic just minutes ago. “I’m sure Julie is just repeating what she’s heard from the angel’s defense team.

Julie looked horrified.

“N-no,” she stammered. “No, that’s not it at _all_.”

“You don’t have to explain,” said Abaddon.

“Yes I do,” insisted Julie. “Because that’s wrong. Nobody told me to say those things, least of all Mr. Winchester or anyone else involved in Castiel’s defense. I believe that Castiel deserves better than to sit here in front of all of you tied up like an animal—“

“Ms. Pierce, you are excused,” said Chuck.

Julie’s horror filled gaze met Sam’s, and she mouthed “I’m sorry,” as she made her way down from the stand.

“The council will now take a short recess to discuss the case presented by the defense,” said Chuck. “We will reconvene in 10 minutes time to hear from the prosecution.”

Dean grabbed Adam and wove and dodged through the crowd until he reached the defense table. Sarah and Sam were whispering furiously with each other, and didn’t notice him approach.

“How much damage did she do?” he asked, without preamble.

Sam and Sarah both jumped. Sarah managed a small smile at the sight of Adam cooing in Dean’s arms.

“I’m going to see if he needs to be changed,” she said as Dean transferred the baby from his arms to hers.

Sam nodded, absently kissing both Sarah and Adam on their foreheads as Sarah gathered her things together.

“Well?” said Dean, once they were gone.

Castiel remained seated at his end of the table, staring off into the distance. Dean wasn’t sure if he was paying attention to what was being said.

“Julie didn’t do us any favors with that stunt she pulled,” said Sam.

“Yeah, I managed to figure that out for myself. How bad is it?”

Sam sighed.

“I don’t know. The first part of her testimony went well. A lot depends on if the council believes that I put her up to that rant at the end, like Abaddon is insinuating, or if they realize she’s just a passionate, impulsive kid.”

Dean snuck a glance over his shoulder and saw that Julie was in the process of being lectured by both of her parents. She sat and listened quietly, but if the expression on her face was any indication, whatever was being said wasn’t having the desired effect.

“She’s a brave kid,” said Dean.

“That she is,” said Sam. “She just needs to learn a little about timing. Anyway, back to our chances… a lot is going to depend on how the members of the council view Julie’s outburst. And then there’s the issue of Abaddon’s witnesses. I heard that she was going to use Professor Harry Morrison.”

“Who?”

“You know him… he’s got that TV show where he goes to people’s houses and supposedly fixes any problems they have with their slaves.”

“Not that idiot who keeps spouting how you have to be dominant over your angel or the angel won’t respect you.”

“The very same,” said Sam.

“Chuck’s too smart to believe anything that guy has to say,” said Dean.

“Chuck might be,” said Sam, “but I can’t be sure about the rest of the council. And Professor Morrison is hugely popular amongst the general public. Going against his opinion might be a little problematic.”

“So, we’re fucked?” said Dean.

“I didn’t say that,” said Sam. “I just don’t know. I’m sure I can poke a few holes in whatever Morrison has to say, but I’m not sure how well received I’ll be, especially after what Julie said today. Abaddon also has a second witness, and I have absolutely no idea who that might be. She’d being incredibly secretive about that, which isn’t like her.”

“Any chance she decided to only call one witness?” asked Dean.

“It’s highly unlikely,” said Sam.

“I figured,” said Dean.

He leaned over and rested a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Cas.”

“Stop that,” muttered Sam. “Everyone already thinks we’re a bunch of angel rights nutjobs…”

Castiel shrugged out from under Dean’s hand, still not making eye contact.

“Sam is right,” he said to the table.

Sarah and Adam returned before Dean could respond. Sarah had no sooner handed Adam back to Dean along with a bottle of what Dean strongly suspected was breastmilk, when the police volunteer who’d introduced the council at the beginning of the trial got to his feet.

“All rise for the Angel Ethics Council, and Council Head Chuck Shurley,” he said.

Chuck and the members of the council took their places. Once everyone was settled, Chuck nodded in Abaddon’s direction. Abaddon rose from her chair and smoothed the front of her navy blazer. She handed a piece of paper to Chuck, catching Dean’s eye and smiling knowingly when Chuck indicated his approval.

“The prosecution calls John Winchester to the stand,” she said.

Dean’s stomach lurched. Sam gave no obvious sign of alarm, but Dean could see a stiffness in the way his brother held himself that hadn’t been there before. Abaddon continued to smile. That _bitch_.

John ascended the witness stand without sparing either of his sons a glance.

“I’m sorry to have to pull you away from your retirement,” said Abaddon after John had been sworn in. “But know that your trip from Florida is much appreciated as we attempt to resolve this matter.”

John merely nodded and folded his hands on top of the wooden surface in front of him. Abaddon took the hint and dispensed with any further small talk.

“Can you talk a little about your background in angel training?” she said.

“I’m an Accredited Angel Slave Trainer. My wife, also an accredited trainer, and I owned our business, The Winchester Angel Training Facility for 38 years. We both retired about 6 years ago.”

“Your facility had an excellent reputation,” said Abaddon. “Winchester trained angels were once in very high demand. Even now, an angel on the auction block with a notation of having been through your facility will command a higher price.”

John nodded.

“Mary and I always worked very hard to provide the best possible product for our customers. Winchester angels are quick, efficient, obedient, and most importantly, they are of sound temperament and are reliable.”

“Yes, that appears to be the case according to the research I’ve done. So tell me, what went wrong with Castiel?”

John sighed and looked down at his hands.

“Some angels are just born bad,” he said. “I didn’t used to believe that. I used to believe that any angel could be trained. I certainly had never encountered one who couldn’t be. And then I met Castiel. From the very beginning he was unmanageable. The day he arrived at our facility as a fledgling, the first thing he did was to attempt escape.”

“Really,” said Abaddon.

“As he matured, he became increasingly difficult to control. I had him in collars that would have seemed overkill even for adult angles, and he still managed to defy me at every turn. Punishments didn’t seem to matter. I’d never seen anything like him.”

“And what of this relationship he seemed to have developed with your sons?” asked Abaddon. “Were you concerned at all?”

“I didn’t realize it had progressed as far as it had,” said John, giving first Sam and then Dean looks of disappointment. “My boys started assisting with training as soon as they were able, and seeing them with one angel or another was never a cause for concern. I didn’t know about any of the stealing and sneaking around that was happening behind my back. I didn’t know that angel was corrupting my sons.”

Dean’s hand holding Adam’s bottle shook as he struggled to hold back an outburst. Corrupting? Really?

“But, even without knowing the damage that was being done to your children, you were uncomfortable enough with Castiel to sell him to a private buyer at an age considerably younger than when most angels are placed.

“That’s right,” said John. “It was a mistake, and I’m not proud of it. But by that point I could tell that Castiel was never going to be reliable enough to be placed through normal means.”

“What were your other options?” asked Abaddon.

“Well, I could have kept him at the facility permanently, but he had a tendency of riling up the other angels. Putting crazy ideas into their heads and making them think they were equal to us, their masters. The older he got, the more the other angels would listen to him, and the more time I had to spend undoing that damage.”

“Sounds like a scary situation,” said Abaddon.

“It’s amazing how, when you have a large group like that, it only takes one bad one to disrupt the whole bunch,” said John. “I couldn’t let that go on for much longer. I could have put him down, of course, and I thought about it. But, I knew my boys were somewhat attached, though I didn’t realize how extreme the attachment had become, and I didn’t want to upset them. When Crowley approached me with the request for a young, headstrong male angel, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get rid of what was starting to become a huge problem. Knowing how many lives were lost as a result of that placement, I can’t tell you how much I regret it now.”

“And what do you think of your sons’ position that Castiel is of no danger, and that the crimes he committed were not his fault?”

“Objection!” said Sam. “What Ms. Knight is asking is outside of the witness’s area of expertise.”

“My witness has just demonstrated exactly how familiar he is with the angel in question, and as such, I feel that speculating about how this angel could possibly fit into the world of humans is absolutely within the witness’s area of expertise,” said Abaddon.

“Overruled,” said Chuck. “You may answer the question, Mr. Winchester.”

John cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, “You have 113 people dead. You have the claim that this angel was not responsible for his actions. All I can tell you is that, when I was Castiel’s trainer, I was never once able to get him to do something he didn’t want to do. I think we need to err on the side of caution, here, and not give him a chance to harm anyone else.”

“Thank-you, Mr. Winchester,” said Abaddon.

Sam stood up as Abaddon returned to her table. He looked as calm and collected as ever, and Dean wondered how he did it. But then, he’d always had an easier time standing up to John than Dean had. Dean’s instinct had always been to obey, to be the good son. Sam had always been the one to question, to ask why.

“You said that you were never able to get Castiel to do something he didn’t want to do,” said Sam, pausing a few feet away from the witness stand.

“I did,” said John.

“Well, let me ask you… did your training methods ever involve torture with weapons modified with pieces of angelic blades? Poisoning an angel’s grace until he was near death? Rape?”

“Of course not,” said John.

“Then you allow that there were things that you were unwilling to do to get an angel’s cooperation,” said Sam.

John nodded curtly.

“But all of these things were done to Castiel in the name of training during his time with Fergus McLeod, a.k.a Crowley. So how can you say for sure that there was no way of coercing Castiel to do something he didn’t want to do when you, yourself, were unwilling to explore every option out there?”

“Right,” said John, drily. “Because I didn’t rape him, that makes me completely unqualified to discuss his temperament.”

“I didn’t say that,” said Sam. “I am asking you to consider the possibility that your previous statement was inaccurate based on evidence that was presented less than an hour ago.”

John leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Is that what you want me to say, son? Fine. I was never able to get Castiel to obey me using any of the means I had at my disposal. Castiel may have been forced to murder humans as a result of extreme types of punishments, but due to my personal experience, I doubt it. Is that better?”

“Dammit,” muttered Dean.

Adam’s eyes flew open.

“Sorry, little man. Don’t tell your mom, okay?”

Adam continued to enthusiastically drain his bottle. Dean shifted him slightly.

“See that guy up there? That’s Grandpa. He’s kind of a jerk, and I’ve got a feeling that, after this all goes down, you won’t be seeing much of him. But that’s okay. He’s making your dad look like an idiot.”

Sam didn’t seem at all perturbed by John’s mocking tone.

“Thank-you for conceding the possibility,” he said. “And I’m also curious about your insinuation that murdering people is something that Castiel would _want_ to do. Had he ever shown any signs of violence while he was under your care?”

“Well, like I said, he was always promoting dangerous ideas amongst the other angels.”

“Ideas of equality, you mean,” said Sam.

“Yes,” said John. “Don’t tell me you’ve become one of _those_ , now, too?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” said Sam without missing a beat. “My question was about signs of violence that you may have seen in Castiel. Encouraging angels to think for themselves, while undesirable, certainly, does not indicate a propensity toward violence. Now, if Castiel had been encouraging the other resident angels to rise up and destroy their masters; that would be a different situation entirely. So… did Castiel encourage such things?”

“No,” grumbled John.

“I see,” said Sam.

“Score one for Daddy,” said Dean, cuddling Adam closer.

“And when Castiel went out of his way to heal Dean and I when we were injured or sick, to protect us from harm, or to comfort us when we were frightened… did that in any way indicate violence to you?”

“No,” said John, again.

“How about when Castiel taught me to read? Or count? Was that threatening in any way?”

“No.”

“Okay. Castiel also used to—“

“Fine!” exploded John. “I never saw any hint of aggression or violence in that angel while he lived at the facility.”

“Thank-you,” said Sam. “No further questions.”

“But that doesn’t mean he’s not violent now,” said John. “That doesn’t mean that all that stuff you said was done to him didn’t knock something loose. I stand by my recommendation. And I wish I could go back in time and put him down myself when I had the chance.”

“Enough!” said Chuck. “Mr. Winchester, please step down. Council, please ignore that last statement. Witness conduct during these proceedings has been deplorable. Ms. Knight, I trust that with your last witness, you will maintain better control.”

“Of course, sir,” said Abaddon. She handed Chuck the information for her last witness as John vacated the witness stand.

Sam collapsed into his chair and shrugged out of his jacket. Dean could see that his shirt was drenched in sweat. Sarah dove into her purse and handed Sam what looked to be a pile of spit up rags, which Sam used to mop off his face. Dean wanted to go up to him and tell him he’d been awesome, that no one could have handled the old man better, but he knew he would just wind up pissing Sam off, so he stayed put.  

“The prosecution calls, as our final witness, Professor Harry Morrison.”

A hush fell over the crowd as everyone fidgeted in their seats, trying to get the best viewpoint they could. Dean also sat up straight, peering over the heads in front of him, trying to get a better look at this guy who was supposed to be this celebrity angel behaviorist.

Harry Morrison turned out to be in his mid sixties, with neatly styled, white hair and thick framed glasses that appeared to be similar in style to Chuck’s. As soon as Dean saw him, he realized that he had seen the guy on TV. Victor insisted on watching reruns of his show every day at lunch, and was a huge fan. Considering Victor’s whacked out ideas about angels, this wasn’t exactly boding well.

“It’s a pleasure to have you with us, Professor Morrison,” said Abaddon. “Most of us here are familiar with your qualifications, but could you please give the council a brief overview?”

“Certainly,” said Professor Morrison. “I am an Angel Rehabilitation Specialist.”

“What the hell even is that?” said Dean to Adam, who had begun to fall asleep over his bottle.

Dean gave him a little nudge and he began sucking again. Angel Rehabilitation Specialist? It certainly wasn’t an official title; that was for sure. Professor Morrison continued to speak.

“For the last 25 years, I’ve been going into people’s homes and offering them assistance when they’ve run into trouble controlling their angel slaves. Sometimes, even angels who have received the best of training,” here, Professor Morrison nodded to John, “can run into trouble when they have an owner who isn’t a strong enough leader. I help people determine exactly what their angel is thinking and why it acts the way it does, and then I train them to rehabilitate their angel.

“Very good, Professor,” said Abaddon. “And I assume you are familiar with Castiel’s case?”

“Yes I am. I‘ve been following it ever since he was rescued by Detective Winchester. Although I use the term _rescue_ loosely.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, as much as I hate to disagree someone with such an excellent reputation as Detective Winchester, I have to say that I’ve dealt with a few instances where angels tragically wound up causing the deaths of humans. In each case, these angels have had a certain bloodthirstiness to them. They’ve wanted to kill, and they’ve enjoyed it.”

“Objection!” said Sam. “That claim is unsubstantiated.”

“Professor Morrison has drawn his opinions from over 25 years of research that has been documented on his television show,” said Abaddon. “His theories hold just as much weight as any other expert in the field.”

Chuck sighed.

“Overruled,” he said, with an apologetic glance toward Sam.

Dean felt a small measure of satisfaction that he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t buying what this guy was selling. Of course, whether Chuck liked Professor Morrison or not didn’t really matter in the long run. What mattered was if Abaddon could use him to build a convincing case.

Dean leaned in the other direction, trying to get a glimpse of Castiel. He seemed to be in the same position he’d been in for the majority of the trial, staring down at the table, shoulders slumped. As maddening as it was for Dean to listen to Professor Moron’s drivel, how much worse must it be for Castiel to have to hear such things said about himself and his kind?

“That’s very interesting, Professor,” said Abaddon. “And what do you make of the claim that Castiel was forced to commit these murders against his will?”

“I have never come across an angel who has killed who hasn’t wanted to on some level,” said Professor Morrison. “A good angel, one who would never think of committing an act of violence against humans, would never be able to do so, no matter how strongly they were compelled by a master.”

Dean’s attention was drawn away from Professor Morrison by a sudden movement from the defense table. Sarah had bent low over the table and was scribbling furiously on a pad of paper. After a few moments, she slid the paper in front of Sam, who nodded. Castiel seemed not to take any notice.

“And, as someone who has rehabilitated thousands of angels, do you feel that an angel such as Castiel, responsible for the deaths of so many, is able to be rehabilitated to the point where he would not present a significant danger to society?”

Professor Morrison thought for a moment, his chin resting lightly on two fingers.

“It would be an interesting challenge,” he said, finally. “I can’t deny that I would love the opportunity to see what I could do with him.”

The baby in his arms was the only thing keeping Dean from vaulting over the railing and dragging Castiel from the courtroom. No way was he letting that guy get his hands on Castiel. Suddenly, Sam and Sarah’s decision to have him sit back in the audience with Adam started to make more sense.

“But, ultimately, I believe the risk is too great,” continued Professor Morrison. “We have to think of the greater good, here. It is my recommendation that the angel Castiel be given a swift execution, not only as punishment for his crimes, but as a protective measure to ensure that he is not given the opportunity to harm anyone else ever again.”

“Thank-you, Professor,” said Abaddon. “Your witness,” she said to Sam as she turned to sit down.

Sam started to speak almost before he was fully upright.

“Professor Morrison,” he said, “That was certainly a very interesting testimony you gave, just now.”

“Always glad to help,” said Professor Morrison, missing the sarcasm.

“I did just want to clarify one point,” said Sam. “On your show, you say that, to an angel, the word of a master should always be absolute. An angel is never to question an order, and it always to obey without thought, is that correct?”

“Yes, it is. The most important component of human and angel interaction is the complete, unswerving obedience of an angel to its master. Without it, a breakdown of the hierarchy occurs.”

“Fascinating,” said Sam.

“Indeed.”

“Because, just now, you said that the sign of a good angel is one who refuses an order from a master.”

“I most certainly did not!”

“I’m confused,” said Sam. “Did you not just say that an angel should refuse an order from a master to kill a human?”

“Well… yes, I suppose I did. That is the one exception to the rule.”

“And how is an angel to know that?”

“Excuse me?”

“How is an angel, who has been told his or her whole life to always obey humans without question, who has been punished for any failure, whether intentional or not, to do just that, supposed to know about that one exception?”

“They’re just supposed to know!” said Professor Morrison. “The sanctity of human life is the most important thing! Everyone knows that!”

“But just seconds ago, you said that the most important thing was, and I quote, complete and unswerving obedience of an angel to its master. So I repeat, Professor, how is an angel, who has been told only to obey, to never question, who has never been allowed a second of independent thought during his or her entire existence, supposed to know that one acceptable time to disobey a master’s order?”

“They. Just. Know,” said Professor Morrison. “You are making this more complicated than it needs to be. Angels protect human life; it’s part of their programming. Any angel who destroys human life is a danger to society. Period. End of story.”

“According to… you?” said Sam. “Because I have a quote here, from a text on Angel Behavior by the renown Certified Applied Angel Behaviorist Pamela Barnes which states that angels cannot be held responsible for things they do under human orders, because the training and conditioning that angels receive results in a condition akin to Stockholm Syndrome in humans.”

“Objection!” said Abaddon. “He’s badgering my witness!”

“Overruled,” said Chuck. “Pointing out holes in a theory does not equate to badgering.”

“Stockholm Syndrome,” scoffed Professor Morrison. “Preposterous. And if Pamela Barnes wishes to argue her case, I invite her to do so. But I’m not going to discuss it with you any further.”

“No,” said Sam, “Two humans arguing about what the third is saying about angels is pointless.”

He turned in a half circle, his eyes landing on Castiel.

“Sir, may I approach?” he asked Chuck.

Chuck nodded, placing his hand over his mic as he and Sam bend their heads together and began whispering. After a moment, Chuck looked up and motioned for Abaddon to join them. The discussion continued for another minute or so before the three of them managed to come to an agreement.

“You may step down,” said Chuck to Professor Morrison.

Chuck waited until everyone had taken their seats before speaking again.

“Generally in these types of trials, the defense and prosecution each present two witnesses. I am making an exception in this case, however, because I believe that Mr. Winchester is correct in saying that humans arguing over angel behavior is pointless, especially when the angel in question is sitting right here in front of us. I would like to call the angel Castiel to the witness stand.”

The crowd broke out in excited murmurs. Dean leapt to his feet, Adam’s bottle falling to the floor, forgotten. He pushed through the crowd, earning a few dirty looks and one angry shout to watch where he was going. Dean didn’t pause to apologize, just kept going until he reached the defense table, where Sam was already in the process of guiding Castiel to his feet.

Castiel was pale, and while he wasn’t outright resisting Sam’s hand on his elbow, it would have been a far stretch to call him willing.

“What the hell are you doing?” hissed Dean once he was in range.

“Not now, Dean,” said Sam, and bent his head level with Castiel’s.

“It’s going to be okay, Cas,” he said, his voice low, reassuring. “All you have to do is tell the truth. Don’t worry about what you think I want you to say, or what the audience wants to hear, okay? Just tell the truth.”

“Sam, this is nuts,” said Dean as Castiel found his footing and allowed himself to be led past the front of the table.

Sam whirled around, still maintaining a firm grip on Castiel’s elbow.

“Just sit,” he said, jerking his head toward Castiel’s empty seat. “And be ready. Sarah, take Adam and wait for my cue.”

Shocked into obedience, Dean dropped onto the chair and handed Adam over to Sarah. Castiel looked back over his shoulder, clearly terrified. Before Dean could think of anything to say, Sam nudged Castiel forward and spoke to him again, though he was too quiet for Dean to hear. Whatever he said caused Castiel to face forward once again, and Dean could only watch helplessly as Castiel and Sam moved toward the witness stand.

“Sam’s gone crazy,” whispered Dean to Sarah. “Cas can’t testify. His practice sessions were terrible. He’s hopeless. This’ll practically guarantee a guilty verdict.”

“You don’t know that,” said Sarah.

“Actually I _do_ ,” said Dean. “Thanks to you and Sam telling me the exact same thing not even 24 hours ago!”

“Things change,” said Sarah. “Circumstances change.”

“Thank-you Mrs. Cryptic.”

“I prefer Ms., actually.”

“And what, exactly, did Sam mean by _be ready_?”

Sarah opened her mouth, but was interrupted by Sam starting to speak. Angels, on the rare occasion that one took the stand, were never sworn in, as they were considered beneath the practice.

“Castiel,” said Sam, “You heard what Professor Morrison was saying just a few minutes ago, correct?”

Castiel nodded.

“Objection!” said Abaddon. “If the angel refuses to speak, his testimony is invalid.”

Sam rolled his eyes, a completely unprofessional act, but one that was allowed during the questioning of an angel, which served it’s purpose of making Abaddon look as though she was being ridiculous.

“Answer the questions verbally, please,” he said to Castiel, not waiting for a response from Chuck. 

“Alright,” said Castiel.

“Did you hear Professor Morrison’s statements about angels who have enacted violence upon humans?”

“Yes.”

“And do you agree?”

Sarah slid a piece of paper in front of Dean. On it was written: _Sam intends for you to remove Cas’s collar and handcuffs._

“What? Why?”

The exclamation was louder than Dean had intended, and he fought the urge to duck his head as most of the court turned to face him. He didn’t have to look at Sam to know that he was on the receiving end of a death glare. Speaking of death glares, Sarah had managed to conjure up a pretty good one herself, from just a few inches away.

“Detective Winchester, one more outburst and I will have you removed,” said Chuck.

“I apologize, sir,” said Dean. “It won’t happen again.”

Chuck nodded, and turned his attention back to Sam and Castiel. Dean raised his eyebrows at Sarah, a silent version of his earlier question. Sarah, however, seemed to have decided not to risk further disruption of the proceedings, and would only shake her head.

Sam pivoted so that he was completely facing away from the defense table.

“Castiel,” he said, “Do you—“

“I disagree,” said Castiel, before Sam could finish the question. His voice was calm, smooth, even, though his posture was stiff and rigid. He cleared his throat and shifted slightly in his chair, the handcuffs clinking as he did so.

“The vast majority of angels who have caused the death of a human have done so only under great duress,” continued Castiel.

“You’re speaking of yourself, also,” said Sam.

“Yes,” said Castiel quietly.

“Did you want to commit the murders you’ve been accused of?”

“No.”

“Did you enjoy committing the murders?”

“No.”

“And do you feel the urge to harm humans?”

“No,” said Castiel. “I have never felt the urge to harm humans. Even when—“ he broke off, fear creeping back into his eyes once again.

“It’s okay,” said Sam. “So long as you tell the truth, nothing you say will be wrong.”

Castiel still looked unsure.

“Even when,” prompted Sam, and Castiel took a deep breath.

“Even when humans were harming me,” he said.

The courtroom broke out in indignant murmurs. Humans punished their slaves. They used them. They compelled them in the name of training. No one had ever called any of that harm. Not until Castiel had bravely said the words.

What Castiel said was different than Julie’s brazen call for angel rights. Castiel was subtle, his voice barely above a whisper, simply stating facts about his experiences at the hands of humans. The reactions of the attendees had started out angry, but as Dean turned around to observe, he could see some people starting to question. To look uncomfortable.

“When you were raped,” said Sam. “When you were beaten. When you were forced to manifest your wings. When your wings were mutilated with angelic weapons, and you were shot with Enochian engraved bullets. When you were forced into a collar that poisoned your grace, and forced to wear that collar for nearly 20 years… through all of that, you never wished harm on those who were torturing you?”

“I wished for it to stop,” said Castiel. “I wished that I, myself, would die. But I never thought to do harm.”

“Why not?” asked Sam. “Most people, if in your position, would wish for revenge without a second thought.”

“I realize that,” said Castiel. “Your species, for all of your virtues, tend to be rather bloodthirsty.”

Sam chuckled, and a few scattered laughs sounded around the courtroom as well.

“But why didn’t you wish death upon your torturers?” asked Sam again.

“Because _all_ life is sacred,” said Castiel, making is emphasis clear, and also training his gaze directly on Professor Morrison.

Dean mentally fist pumped and scanned the courtroom again. Most people wore expressions of varying degrees of confusion. Some seemed sympathetic. Some people’s eyes were brimming with tears. Dean caught sight of Gabriel, whose face was contorted in rage. Dean realized too late that this was the first Gabriel had heard of any of what had happened to Castiel during his years of captivity.

For an instant, Dean worried that Gabriel might do something stupid… something like bolt up out of his chair and pull Castiel off of the witness stand, break out of the courthouse and spirit him somewhere safe… the very thing that Dean himself had been wanting to do throughout the entire trial.

Before Dean could even start to try and figure out what to do… how to act in time to protect both Gabriel and Castiel, he saw Aaron lightly rest a hand on Gabriel’s forearm. He wasn’t trying to restrain… such an attempt would be futile when, even collared, Gabriel’s strength was superior to that of a human. It seemed to be an act of comfort, and, Dean was amazed to recognize, it was actually working. Gabriel relaxed in increments, still looking angry, but no longer dangerously so.

“What do you think of your former owner now?” asked Sam, and Dean forced his attention back on Castiel.

“I don’t want him to hurt anyone else,” said Castiel. “I want to work with you, with your… police… to find him and capture him.”

Dean blinked. This was the first he’d ever heard Castiel, of his own accord, expressing a desire to assist with Crowley’s apprehension. Sure, he’d claimed to be willing when put into a situation with no possible escape, such as when he’d worked with Benny and Victor identifying victims, but he’d never actually asked to be involved in the case. He turned to Sarah and noticed a tiny smile playing on her lips.

“This was your idea, wasn’t it?” he whispered.

She nodded.

“Castiel had trouble with the practice sessions because they were fake,” she said quietly, one eye on Sam and Castiel to ensure she wasn’t causing a disruption. “Sam was trying to get him to read off of a script, and even though the sentiment was basically the same, it wasn’t Castiel’s own words, and he felt like he was lying. This, believe it or not, makes more sense to him.”

“Is that why Sam keeps telling him to tell the truth?”

“Yes. It’s encouraging him to speak for himself, to not try and recite what he thinks everyone wants to hear.”

“You are a genius. No wonder Sam married you.”

“I know,” said Sarah smugly.

“And now,” said Sam, “If it pleases the council, a short demonstration. Dean, would you approach the witness stand?”

Dean jumped at the mention of his name. He’d missed what had been said in the interim, and it took him a second to remember Sarah’s note telling him that Sam intended for him to remove Castiel’s bindings. He still didn’t know why, or what Sam had planned, but he fished the handcuff key out of his pocket and walked up to Sam.

“Dean will now remove Castiel’s collar and handcuffs.”

“Objection!” said Abaddon, over a collective gasp from the audience.

“There are armed guards flanking both walls,” said Sam, “And Dean will stand by with the collar and cuffs to intervene if necessary. This will only take a few minutes.”

“Overruled,” said Chuck. “You may proceed, Detective.”

Sam nodded to Dean.

“Hey, Cas,” said Dean as he climbed the three low steps to the witness box.

He’d forgotten about the microphone, and was startled to hear his voice amplified over the entire room. He felt his face flush red, and busied himself unlocking the handcuffs. Instead of relaxing, Castiel tensed as Dean removed the cuffs. Dean wanted to tell Castiel to breathe, to try to stay calm, that whatever Sam had planned wouldn’t be bad, but he couldn’t risk speaking again. He could only drape the handcuffs over one arm as he positioned his other hand on the buckle of Castiel’s collar, muttering an incantation in Enochian while releasing the clasp. The collar fell away, and Dean permitted himself a brief, encouraging smile before he stepped to the side.

“Sarah, if you please,” said Sam.

Sarah rose; Adam still in her arms, and walked up to Sam.

“This is my son, Adam,” said Sam as Sarah handed the baby over. “If you were to have met him two days ago, you wouldn’t be seeing the smiley, happy boy you are seeing today. Two days ago, Adam was suffering from an inguinal hernia, an extremely painful condition. Inguinal hernias can be difficult to detect in infants, and our doctor missed Adam’s. We had no idea what was going on, and all poor Adam could do was scream and cry.”

“Objection!” said Abaddon. “Relevance?”

“Overruled,” said Chuck. “I’m sure there’s a point to this story, Mr. Winchester?”

“Yes there is,” said Sam. “Castiel, without a command, or even a request, healed my son. Of his own accord, he realized what was wrong and took away Adam’s pain, and for that myself, my wife, and most of all Adam, will be eternally grateful. Today, I am going to hand my son, the person who I love most in the world, to this angel who has been accused of murder. To this angel who some of you insist is a dangerous threat to humanity.”

Sam swiftly climbed the steps to the witness box and placed Adam in Castiel’s arms without a moment’s hesitation. Dean wanted to groan, because there was no way this kind of stunt would work on the audience, or the council for that matter. It was obviously staged, and really, any angel who would hurt a baby in a courtroom full of people was _clearly_ unstable and probably didn’t belong in society anyway.

That was what Dean thought, that is, until he saw the tension completely bleed out of Castiel’s body as he cradled Adam in his arms and looked down at him with what could only be described as affection. Until his saw Castiel cuddle Adam closer to his chest, and heard Castiel’s soft sigh of contentment. Until he saw Adam lift a tiny fist and grasp a handful of Castiel’s tunic, and Castiel gently disentangle him and offer his own finger for Adam to grip. Adam’s happy coos, magnified by the microphone just in front of him, reached every corner of the courtroom. The scene may have been staged, yes, but Castiel’s genuine warmth and fondness, the way he let down his guard for Adam when, only seconds ago he’d been on high alert… that couldn’t be faked. Neither could Adam’s equally moving response to Castiel.

“This angel,” said Sam, softly “does not deserve to die. Any one of you would be lucky to have Castiel in your home and around your children.”

Sam waited a moment for that to sink in, then turned to Chuck.

“Nothing further,” he said.

Sam retrieved Adam, and Dean started forward with the collar and handcuffs. Abaddon stood up and held out a hand.

“Request permission for the restraints to remain off during my cross exam,” she said. “Since, as the angel’s defender claims, he’s perfectly safe, and this is a controlled environment.”

“Request granted,” said Chuck.

“Also requesting that Detective Winchester take his seat,” said Abaddon. “He has a vested interest in the outcome of this trial, and I don’t want him influencing the angel’s responses to my questions.”

“Also granted,” said Chuck.

He turned to Dean.

“You may be seated.”

Dean fought to keep his face neutral as he returned to the defense table and sat back down in Castiel’s chair. Abaddon, at last, turned her attention to Castiel. Dean was betting that most of the members of the council and for sure the spectators in the courtroom, hadn’t noticed how stiff and tense Castiel had been before he’d held Adam. All of that tension had returned once Sam had removed the baby, however, and the contrast was startling.

“It was very sweet of you, to heal that baby,” said Abaddon. “And his parents are right to be grateful, of course. Not really that surprising, though. Babies who cry when they are in pain don’t really sound much different than babies who cry when they are hungry, or wet, or tired, or just plain cranky, do they?”

She paused, allowing barely a second to pass before saying,

“Answer the question, angel.”

“I’m not sure,” said Castiel. “I have little experience with infants.”

“But it’s an annoying sound, isn’t it? Grates on you?”

“It is not a pleasant sound,” allowed Castiel.

“And I’m sure it takes less energy to heal a baby than to smite one, am I correct?”

“That is actually incorrect,” said Castiel, firm yet respectful. “I can see why there might be some confusion, as angels are not able to smite while wearing a collar, but they are able to heal to a certain degree. It does not really have anything to do with the amount of power expended; it is simply a safety feature of all angel collars to block an angel’s ability to smite. But, as with all things, it is much easier to destroy, while repairing what is broken takes far more concentration and effort.”

Abaddon was livid. Dean had seen that side of her before, and it wasn’t pretty.

“Moving on,” she said sharply, striding up to the witness stand and slapping a piece of paper down onto the stand directly in front of Castiel. What little color there was left in Castiel’s face drained away.

“Shit,” muttered Dean.

A muscle twitched in Sam’s jaw.

“Do you recognize this person?” asked Abaddon.

“Yes.” Castiel’s response was nearly inaudible, even with the microphone.

“What is his name?”

“Evan Hudson.”

“And why is it that you recognize him?”

“I…” Castiel trailed off, clasping his hands together to stop them trembling.

“You recognize him because you murdered him, is that what you were going to say?”

“Yes,” whispered Castiel, closing his eyes.

“Open you eyes, angel, and look at me.”

Castiel was slow to comply, and Abaddon slapped her hand down on the stand.

“Look at me,” she ordered, and Castiel finally managed to obey.

“You smote Evan Hudson for simply being a good husband, for doing what he had to do to save his wife. You smote him and it was, in your own words, easier than healing a baby from a hernia. Did you realize that Evan Hudson’s wife is sitting in this courtroom today? She’s right there.”

But Castiel’s eyes had already found the former Mrs. Hudson in the crowd. She held his gaze, her eyes bright with tears and her face tight with grief and anger.

“What do you have to say to this woman who is a widow because of you?” said Abaddon, taking a step to the side to provide Castiel an unobstructed view of the woman.

Castiel breathed in deeply, and though his hands continued to tremble slightly, his voice was steady. His eyes remained on Mrs. Hudson.

“I would like to say that, what I did to your husband… to Mr. Hudson… wasn’t easy. When I spoke of smiting as requiring less energy than healing, I was referencing a physical expenditure of grace only. I wasn’t talking about how it felt…”

There Castiel’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat.

“I’m deeply sorry for your loss,” he said. “Your husband was a good man. And when he stood before me that day, his last words were of you, and how he didn’t regret for a second his sacrifice. I took his life, then, as quickly and painlessly as I could because he was dead either way. Believe it or not, I was the better option.”

“That’s enough,” said Abaddon.

Castiel continued on as if Abaddon hadn’t spoken.

“If there was any way I could have prevented your husband’s death, I would have,” he said. “This may be difficult to hear, but, the way I was trained—“

“I told you to stop!” said Abaddon.

“Objection!” said Sam. “She’s badgering the witness. He’s answering the question that was presented to him.”

“Sustained,” said Chuck.

Abaddon glared at him.

“You asked the question, not me,” said Chuck, shrinking back a little in his chair. “The witness is certainly permitted to answer it. Go ahead, Castiel.”

“First, they broke me,” said Castiel. “The collar they put on me was extremely damaging to my grace. I was forced to manifest my wings, and to keep them in this plane at all times. They tortured me with weapons made out of melted down angel blades and mutilated and defiled my wings. They… used me. And they drugged me. All I knew was pain, and eventually I forgot everything else.”

Dean unconsciously leaned forward in his chair. He knew all of this; of course, he’d read Alastair’s journals. But, outside of that one time on the front porch when Castiel was near death, Castiel had never really talked about what he’d endured while he’d been owned by Crowley.

“I forgot who I was, and where I’d come from. I forgot that there was anything outside of Master’s house, Master, and Alastair. And the pain. The pain was always there. It never fully went away, but it lessened when I obeyed. It was never gone, for even when I obeyed, it was never enough, and there was always some area where they could find fault. I became a machine that followed orders, bore punishments and… whatever else they wanted to do to me. It was then that they decided that I was ready to kill.”

Several people in the audience began sobbing openly. Dean peeked over his shoulder as saw that Gabriel’s expression of anger had given way to one of horror, and that he was now the one clutching Aaron’s wrist as though Aaron was an anchor, the only thing holding him down in his chair.

Castiel and Mrs. Hudson continued to stare into each other’s eyes, neither one of them even hinting at looking away. Mrs. Hudson held her head high, and seemed unmoved by anything Castiel had to say.

“They took me out in a van. I was still drugged, and still recovering from my latest punishment, and my awareness of what was happening was limited. They brought me into a building, into a room, which was already occupied by two men. Master said I was to kill the men, and then he removed my collar. My grace rose up and healed most of my wounds, save for those on my wings, and purged the drugs from my system. For the first time in years I was clear headed. I saw the men in front of me, and I heard Master repeat the command to kill them. I refused. I was still me, and I was coming back to myself more and more with each passing second. It occurred to me that I could escape, and take those men with me, but before I could act, I was forced back into my collar and restrained while Master’s employees took the two men and did… awful things to them. Their deaths were slow, and agonizing. I was held in place and made to watch while those men suffered, and to listen as they finally cursed my name for not giving a quick, merciful death.”

Everyone in the courtroom was still, and, save for those who were crying, silent as they listened to Castiel’s story. Even the members of the council were riveted. Chuck looked a little green, and upon closer inspection, Dean saw that he’d developed a twitch in his right eye.

“After the men were dead, I was taken back to Master’s house and punished more severely than I had been in a long time. At the end of it, Master said that I would be given another chance. He made good on his promise the very next day. This time, the memories of what had happened to those men still fresh in my mind, I resolved that I would obey. But, when my collar came off and I saw the man and woman standing before me, frightened and pleading for their lives, I hesitated. I didn’t want to kill. I was once again forced back into my collar and made to watch as that man and woman were brutally tortured before they were finally murdered. I was once again taken back and punished, and once again told that I would get another chance. The next time, I didn’t hesitate. Nor the time after that, nor the time after that. I didn’t hesitate again until….”

Castiel paused, and Dean’s initial thought was that he was done, that the stress of reliving everything had taken too much out of him and he was fried. Abaddon seemed not to be paying attention to anything that was being said any longer, but was deep in talk with one of the police officers positioned against the wall. Dean had just about decided to get up and get Castiel out of there when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs. Hudson give a slight nod, and Castiel continued,

“I didn’t hesitate again until I saw your husband. His love for you, and his bravery reached a part of me that I didn’t realize still existed. I felt that it was wrong to take this man’s life, this man whose love for his wife was so strong that he’d sacrifice his life for her. I hesitated, and it had been so long since I’d done that, that Master was a little slow on signaling to his men to re-collar me. I saw them start to move, but just before they got to me I leapt out of their reach and… finished it.”

Mrs. Hudson finally looked away, slowly and deliberately averting her eyes, but betraying no other emotion.

“For that hesitation I was shot with a bullet engraved in Enochian,” said Castiel. “I was handcuffed to my bed and left there, with the bullet burning inside of me for weeks. But that pain was nothing compared to the burn of the guilt I felt over what I did to Evan Hudson… and what I had almost let happen to him. After that I was well and truly broken. I no longer gave any thought to who I was being asked to smite or why. I did as I was told, accepted my punishments, and wished for death every day.”

Castiel fell silent. Abaddon turned away from the police officer she’d been talking to and walked back over to the witness stand. She seemed to have changed strategies, no longer looking angry, but serious and contemplative. She reclaimed the picture of Evan Hudson, handing it to her assistant, who tucked it away into the slim folder resting on the prosecution table.

Abaddon studied Castiel, her arms at her sides instead of defensively crossed over her chest as they had been during the first part of the testimony. Castiel gazed calmly back at her, all traces of tension and nerves gone. He simply looked drained, as though he didn’t care what happened next, so long as it brought them closer to the end.

“It must have been very difficult to tell that story,” said Abaddon, for once managing to not sound as though she felt Castiel was the scum of the earth.

Castiel gave no response, as she hadn’t asked him a direct question. Dean saw a surge of annoyance flicker over Abaddon’s face, but she managed to smooth her features almost instantly.

“What happened to you was a tragedy. Not only for you, but for the 113 people who died at your hand, and their families. Not to mention, your future victims and their families.”

Castiel still didn’t speak. Abaddon took a step closer to the stand.

“I do believe that you suffered greatly while in the custody of your previous owners,” she said. “And I believe that you feel regret for what you were forced to do for them. But, that’s not enough, Castiel. You, yourself, have said that you are damaged. Broken. How can you deny that you pose a threat to the general public, simply as a result of the trauma you’ve endured?”

Dean’s chest felt tight, and his mouth went dry. This was what would sink them, he was sure. For all of his efforts, he’d never felt that he’d gotten through to Castiel, that Castiel actually believed him when Dean said that he was 100% positive that Castiel would never hurt a human. He reached around Sarah and flicked Sam in the elbow, trying to warn him to be ready to object… to what, Dean had no idea. He just hoped that Sam would be able to come up with something to stop whatever Castiel was about to say.

Castiel suddenly turned slightly in his chair, and Dean was met with the all of the intensity of his bright blue eyes. A silent question hung in the air, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from answering.

“Please, Cas,” he whispered, and even though there was no possible way Castiel could have heard him, Castiel blinked and nodded, turning back to face Abaddon.

“I do deny it,” said Castiel, still calm and quiet, his voice steady. “Human safety has been my concern since I was rescued, and it has also been the concern of my rescuers. This is not an issue that any of us have taken lightly. I admit, that in the beginning I doubted myself, especially after the regrettable incidents with Detective Henrickson and with… with Dean. I even went so far as to request that Dean execute me right then and there. But Dean refused. He believed in me, and as time when on I… I realized that he was right.”

Dean was able to breathe again. With every word it was obvious that Castiel believed what he was saying. He was too shitty of a liar to not be telling what he thought to be the absolute truth, and Dean wanted to celebrate right then and there. He managed to restrain himself, though, mostly because Castiel was still talking.

“I have an affinity for your species that overrides everything else,” said Castiel, and was that the barest hint of a smile? “I have a purpose, now, and it is to protect humans and angels alike from Fergus MacLeod, or Roderick Crowley… the man I used to call Master. He is the only one with anything to fear from me, because I know him. I know his habits, and the way he thinks, and I will find him.”

Dean wanted to whoop with joy, because that was it; that was Abaddon’s case shot to hell right there. He settled for grinning at Sam and Sarah, who responded with wide smiles of their own, and sending a surreptitious thumbs-up in Gabriel’s direction. Dean’s face fell when he saw Abaddon gearing up to speak, still with a calculating look on her face, as though she wasn’t even close to giving up yet. Dean didn’t let his smile completely disappear, because really, what else could she possibly have to say after Castiel’s amazing testimony?

“Is that so?” she said.

“Yes,” said Castiel.

Abaddon smiled.

“Well then. I trust that the court won’t mind me putting on a little demonstration of my own, considering they allowed the defense the same opportunity.”

Without waiting for a response from Chuck, Abaddon gave her right arm a shake. An angel blade slid out of her sleeve, and Abaddon expertly grasped the handle before the blade could fall to the floor. Dean got as far as sliding his chair back when Sam grabbed his wrist.

“Dean. Do not,” he warned.

Dean didn’t have time to argue, and the pressure of Sam’s hand caused him to abandon the idea of charging Abaddon. At least for the moment. In an abrupt moment of realization, Dean’s eyes flew to the police officer Abaddon had been talking to just minutes ago. The officer was now unarmed.

“It seems as though you are at the highest risk for violence when you feel threatened,” said Abaddon, swinging the blade absently as she spoke. “In the past when you’ve found yourself in situations where you felt unsafe, flashbacks were triggered, and you wound up either reflexively defending yourself, or becoming convinced you were still doing Crowley’s bidding and smiting anyone who came near. Am I wrong?”

“That those two incidents happened? No,” said Castiel, still sounding calm.

His eyes, however, were fixed on the angel blade.

“But you still deny the potential for another such incident to occur,” said Abaddon.

“I do,” said Castiel.

“Well, we’ll just see then, won’t we?”

Abaddon moved closer to the witness stand, still playing with the blade. She climbed the stairs, allowing the blade to brush against Castiel’s sleeve. Castiel flinched.

“Objection!” said Sam.

“Overruled,” said Chuck. “But proceed with caution, Ms. Knight.”

“Of course,” murmured Abaddon. “I’ll be just as careful as I can around our poor, fragile little angel.”

She moved behind Castiel. With what looked to be a monumental effort, Castiel remained facing forward.

“We wouldn’t want to do anything to upset him now, would we,” said Abaddon.

There was a sudden flash of silver and Castiel gave a pained exclamation and clutched his right shoulder, blood immediately oozing through his fingers.

“Objection!” roared Sam.

Chuck sprang up from his seat.

“Ms. Knight! Please remove yourself from the witness stand, and dispose of that blade. I’m putting an end to this cross examination.”

Abaddon gave a curt nod and lowered the blade. She paused at the top of the steps, and Dean realized what she was going to do a split second before it happened.

“No!” he cried.

At that exact moment, Abaddon whirled around, the blade held high and positioned for a killing blow. Castiel pivoted in his seat and managed to push himself halfway to standing. Still clutching his wounded shoulder with his left hand, he grasped Abaddon’s wrist with his right.

Dean stood up so fast his chair crashed to the ground, and managed to make it almost all of the way around the table before Sam grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him back. The police officers stationed on either side of the courtroom began advancing, blades drawn, to protect _Abaddon_ , Dean realized, enraged.

“No!” shouted Abaddon, fighting with all of her might against Castiel’s hold. “Get back! I want everyone to see what he does!”

Sam still had a vice grip on Dean’s shoulders.

“Lemme go,” growled Dean. “She’s going to kill him, can’t you see that!”

“She’s not,” said Sam. “But you will definitely get him killed if you rush them!”

Dean watched helplessly as Castiel loosened his hold on Abaddon just enough to readjust his grip. She seized the opportunity and tried to plunge her blade into Castiel’s heart, but be was too fast for her and tightened his grasp, slowly rotating Abaddon’s wrist until she dropped the blade with a frustrated snarl.

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel, his voice tight with pain, staring straight into Abaddon’s eyes as though he could see through them and into her soul. “I’m sorry for whatever happened to you that has caused you to have so much hate for me and my kind. Know that I do not hold it against you, and that I do not wish to hurt you. But I cannot just allow you to kill me.”

Castiel kicked the blade behind him, out of Abaddon’s reach and gently guided her backward down the stairs, never letting go of her wrist or allowing her to turn around, but ensuring all the same that they weren’t moving too fast, and that each of Abaddon’s foot placements were firmly planted in the center of each stair.

Once back on the floor, Abaddon wrenched her wrist out of Castiel’s grasp with enough force to send her staggering back several steps. Chuck slowly sat back down in his chair.

“Please return to your table, Ms. Knight,” he said, and waved off the guards when Abaddon complied.

Sam let go of Dean and straightened, buttoning his suit jacket.

“The defense rests,” he said.  

Chuck nodded, and a wolf whistle sounded from the crowd, but when Dean turned to see who it was, he was met with a sea of slightly bemused faces. He did notice that Gabriel seemed to be sporting an uncharacteristically innocent expression, and Aaron one of mild annoyance. Chuck seemed to be warring between annoyance and relief. As he prepared to speak, relief won out.

“Detective Winchester,” he said, “please replace the angel’s restraints and escort him back to his seat at the defense table. The members of the council will retire to the deliberation room. We will have a verdict shortly.”

The council filed out of the courtroom with none of the pomp and circumstance of earlier. Dean needed no further prompting to rush over to Castiel, who was looking a little lost and uncertain at the base of the witness stand.

“Fuck, Cas, I’m so sorry,” he said. “Let me see your shoulder.”

“It’s fine,” said Castiel. “It will heal.”

“Right,” said Dean. “Let me see.”

Castiel didn’t resist as Dean tugged on the collar of his tunic to get a better view of his shoulder. Dean swore when he saw that the slash extended from about two inches below Castiel’s collarbone to the base of his neck.

“It will heal, Dean,” said Castiel again, and Dean had to admit he was right, that the blood had already clotted and the edges of the wound seemed to be drawing together at either end. It was just the fact that the injury had been due to an angel blade that the healing was delayed.

“These are going to slow the healing even more,” said Dean, holding up the collar and handcuffs.

Castiel’s response was to shrug his uninjured shoulder and extend his hands to be cuffed. And really, there wasn’t anything else for it. Dean fitted the bracelets of the handcuffs as loosely as he could, and tried to ignore it when Castiel winced slightly as Dean buckled the collar around his neck.

“Ready?” said Dean.

Castiel nodded, and they began walking back to the defense table. They had to pass by the prosecution table on their way. Abaddon sat in her chair, massaging her wrist and staring off into the distance, refusing to acknowledge them as they passed. Dean was happy to return the favor. He still couldn’t quite believe that Abaddon had been willing to risk her life, that she’d been banking on Castiel snapping and killing her, just to prove her point.

Castiel, on the other hand, stopped in front of the table.

“Come on, Cas,” said Dean.

Ignoring him, Castiel extended both of his cuffed hands across the tabletop and brushed his fingers lightly over Abaddon’s wrist before she could move away. Abaddon’s mouth dropped open in surprise as she belatedly jerked her hands out of Castiel’s reach.

“I didn’t mean to injure you,” said Castiel.

“Get the fuck away from me,” said Abaddon, and then it was Dean’s turn to stand open mouthed, because he’d never heard poised, confident, never-lose-a-case Abaddon stoop to swearing before.

“Did you just heal her?” demanded Dean when they were a safe distance away. “What is wrong with you?”

Castiel was saved from answering by Sam running up to meet them as they drew closer to the defense table.

“Are you okay?” asked Sam, going into mother hen mode and attempting to examine Castiel’s wound.

“I’m fine,” said Castiel, neatly sidestepping Sam’s advances.

“Except for the goddamn 5 inch gash on his chest and shoulder, anyway,” said Dean.

“It’s not healing?” said Sam.

“Angel blade,” said Dean. “And now that he’s got the collar and cuffs on, it’s going to take even longer.”

“Be that as it may,” said Castiel, “It _is_ healing, if a little slower than usual. I will be fine.” 

He sat down in his chair, eyes widening slightly as Sarah leaned over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Knew you had it in ya,” she said with a smile, rising to her feet. “Adam needs a clean diaper, so excuse me, guys.”

Dean slid into Sarah’s empty chair.

“She’s right, Cas,” he said. “You were incredible up there.”

Castiel did the one shoulder shrug again.

“I just told the truth,” he said.

They were interrupted by a quiet cough from the aisle on Castiel’s side of the table. Dean looked up to find Mrs. Hudson staring down again.

“Not you again,” he said, planting his feet and preparing to stand. “He’s had enough for one day.”

Castiel gently pushed Dean back down onto his chair.

“It’s alright,” he said, and turned to face Mrs. Hudson.

The two of them started at each other for a few seconds, and Mrs. Hudson took a deep breath.

“I forgive you,” she said, placing a hand on top of Castiel’s. “And… I thank you, for doing what you did to make it… easier. On him.”

Castiel nodded.

“You won’t have to worry about protesters when you leave,” she said, and turned on her heel and walked out the door.   

******

Chuck returned to the courtroom alone, not ten minutes after he and the other council members left. He elected not to have the guards announce him, but simply stood at the front of the courtroom and waited for everyone to quiet down, which happened in an amazingly short amount of time.

“In this, the matter of the fate of the angel Castiel, I now present my ruling. I rule that the angel Castiel does not pose a significant enough threat to society to warrant execution.”

Chuck paused as some of the members of the audience cheered.

“However, due to the delicate nature of this case, and the sheer number of previous victims, I will have to insist that Castiel remain in the custody of Detective Dean Winchester for the remainder of his life. If Detective Winchester, for any reason, decides that he is unable or unwilling to maintain ownership of Castiel, then it is my ruling that Castiel be executed at that time.”

Chuck nodded to the crowd and walked away, just looking glad to be done with the whole thing. Dean leaned over to Sam.

“What do you think of that death clause?” he asked.

Sam shrugged.

“Really, it’s the best outcome we could have expected,” he said. “Chuck would have been lynched if he just let Cas off free and clear.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” said Dean.

Before they could say anything else, or even properly congratulate Castiel, a crowd formed around the defense table. The members of the police force were the first to offer their congratulations, with even Victor shaking Sam and Dean’s hands, though he avoided Castiel. Bobby heartily slapped all three of them on the back, and told Dean he expected him back at work after the weekend, confirming Dean’s suspicions that his “extended vacation” was really just an informal suspension.

Abaddon caused a brief disruption then, as she pushed her way through the crowd and stormed out the door. Dean watched John make a similar exit out the back door. He turned back to Sam and Castiel, realizing that they’d just watched the same thing.

“Well, I guess that’s that,” said Dean.

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel.

“Don’t apologize, Cas,” said Dean.

“It wasn’t even remotely your fault,” said Sam. “And, anyway, with beliefs like that, we don’t need him around anyway, right Dean?”

Dean hesitated, even after all of these years not completely able to shake the urge to be the good son, the obedient son. He looked up to find Castiel staring earnestly at him, as though waiting for another verdict. Dean thought back to the last time he’d been forced to choose between John and Castiel, and that was all the motivation he needed.

“Absolutely,” he said, throwing one arm around Sam. He reached for Castiel with the other, but Gabriel beat him to it, wrapping Castiel in a tight hug, his eyes once again glistening with tears.

“For a minute there, I thought you were done. Kaput,” Gabriel managed to choke out from where he’d buried his face in Castiel’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened to you, Cas? I mean, I saw some of your injuries and I knew it was bad, but… I had no idea.”

“What good would it have done?”

“What… good would it have done?” spluttered Gabriel. “That’s not the point. We’re family. Family doesn’t lie to each other.”

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel.

Gabriel squeezed him harder.

“Don’t apologize,” he muttered.

Castiel looked perplexed at having been told the same thing by two different people in as many minutes.

“What would you have me do?” he said, finally.

That managed to get a laugh out of Gabriel, at least. He pulled back and studied Castiel, resting his hand on the area Abaddon slashed. A second later, Castiel gave a relieved sigh and rolled his shoulder.

“Thank-you,” he said.

“It’ll take a few days for the mark to fade,” said Gabriel. “Angelic weapon and all.”

He paused, looking Castiel up and down one more time before meeting his brother’s confused gaze.

“Just be straight with me from now on,” said Gabriel. “Even if you think it’s something I don’t want to hear. Okay?”

“Yes,” said Castiel. “Yes, I can do that.”

Gabriel laughed again and gave Castiel a playful tap on the cheek.

“Enough with the maudlin,” he said. “Let’s talk about how you totally owned that angry ginger. That was bad ass, bro.”

“Is that… good?” asked Castiel, just as Julie and Anna appeared out of thin air at his side.

“Did you literally just have your angel fly you across the room?” said Dean. “Spoiled much?”

“Um, not spoiled,” said Julie. “Smart. Have you seen this crowd? It’ll take my parents ages to find me. I needed time to—to—“ her voice broke, and Anna patted her back.

Julie swallowed a sob and took a deep breath.

“I needed to apologize,” she said. “For what I said during my testimony. I didn’t think they’d blame you and Sam. I just wanted to make people think and—and—“

This time there was no going back. Julie completely dissolved into tears. Castiel awkwardly enfolded her into a hug.

“Don’t cry,” he said. “Everything worked out. It’s fine.”

Castiel bowed his head and murmured something more as Julie clung to him and sniffled, something that might have been Enochian, but Dean couldn’t make it out. Julie responded to whatever it was by nodding into Castiel’s shirt.

Dean turned away to give Julie a little privacy to pull herself together and found Gabriel staring, agog, at Anna.

“I’ve never seen you before,” said Gabriel, awe and wonder evident in his tone. “You’re beautiful.”

Dean snorted.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” he said. “Why don’t you just compare her eyes to limpid pools, or her hair to a fiery sunset while you’re at it?”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed and, Dean realized with horror, he’d actually been planning on saying just that, or something similar. Anna turned away without acknowledgement, moving a step closer to Julie.

“Hey, better luck next time, dude,” said Aaron, slapping Gabriel on the back.

Julie, noticing the exchange, pulled away from Castiel. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked up at Anna. Anna blinked and looked away, a faint blush staining her normally pale cheeks.

“Would you go find Mom and Dad, and maybe… point them anywhere else but here?” said Julie.

Anna disappeared, and this time Dean heard the faint sound of fluttering feathers. Gabriel looked affronted.

“Why’d you send her away? I didn’t even find out her name!”

Julie looked back at Castiel, whose lips twitched as he gave her a small push in Gabriel’s direction.

“Okay,” said Julie, wiping at her eyes one more time, all business, now. “First of all, her name is Anna. Second of all, my parents don’t allow her to consort with other angels.”

“They’ve forbid her to be mated?” said Gabriel, aghast.

Aaron looked similarly disgusted.

“They think it will interfere with her loyalty to the family,” said Julie.

“That’s a bunch of—“ began Gabriel.

“But lucky for you,” interrupted Julie, “Anna takes me to Cemetery Park every day after school so I can log my miles for Cross Country. No one’s ever there. My parents would never know if, say, someone decided to take a walk in the park with _his_ angel at the exact same time?”

“I’m listening,” said Aaron.

Julie grinned and drew the two of them off to formulate a plan.

“Man,” said Dean. “That Gabriel is the best distraction ever.”

“I do not think he was intending to distract Julie from her tears, exactly,” said Castiel. “I think he is actually interested in Anna.”

“Huh,” said Dean. “Never thought of Gabe as the romantic type.”

“Hey, guys,” said Sam, breaking off from where he’d been talking with an acquaintance who’d been in the audience. “I’m going to go find my wife and kid and we’re going to head home.”

“Don’t you want to stick around for celebratory… I don’t know… Ice cream? Pizza? Apple pie?” asked Dean.

Sam laughed.

“Tempting as all of that sounds, we really have to get going. It’s been a rough couple of days and it’ll be good for Adam to get back home.”

“Alright,” said Dean, reaching over and giving Sam a very manly half hug complete with back slaps, “Thanks again for taking this on. No way could we have done this without you.”

“Yes,” said Castiel, shocking Dean by also giving Sam a hug, a real one, with both arms. “Thank-you. For everything.”

“Cas,” said Sam, returning the hug. And dammit, if his eyes were misty, Dean was going to kick his ass. “It was my pleasure. I was so glad there was something I could do to help you.”

The hug lasted longer than Dean would have expected, and he was just about to tell them to get a room when they broke apart. Sam gave one last wave over his shoulder as he exited the courtroom.

“Well,” said Dean to Castiel, “We should probably head out, too. Get all that crap off of you.”

They started to push through the crowd, and found themselves face to face with Garth.

“Hi!” said Garth.

His eyes looked a little red, but he wasn’t actively crying, so Dean counted it as a win. He offered his hand for Garth to shake, but Garth ignored it and flung his arms around Dean’s neck instead.

“I’m so happy this worked out for you guys,” was all he said, and Dean understood what hadn’t been spoken as well… how this must have reminded Garth of what had happened with Inias, and what it meant for Garth to have been able to be part of saving this one angle who reminded him so much of his childhood friend.

Dean threw caution to the wind and locked his arms around Garth’s back.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, man,” he said. “You saved his life.”

Dean turned to Castiel after Garth let go of him.

“Cas, do you remember Garth? He helped you out that first day, after we sprung you from Crowley’s.”

“I remember you telling me about him,” said Castiel. “But I’m afraid I don’t recall much about the actual encounter. I am incredibly grateful for all that you did, however. And I am very sorry for any injury I caused to your proboscis.”

“His what?” said Dean.

“My nose,” said Garth, smiling. “I was happy to do it, Castiel. And my nose is fine.”

He was mindful of Castiel’s personal space and didn’t try to crowd or hug him, and left after a minute or so of chatting.

“I like him,” said Castiel, after Garth had disappeared into the sea of people.

“Me too,” said Dean, scanning the room for any other people who might be heading in their direction. “I think we’re in the clear. What say you, Cas? How ‘bout we go home.”

Dean was rewarded with one of Castiel’s rare smiles.

“Yes,” said Castiel. “Let’s go home.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it sounds like the end, but it's not... Crowley and Alastair are still out there! (Cue evil laugh). The end is in sight, however. Just a few more chapters to go. 
> 
> I wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who has commented on this fic. I never intended to make the trial a big part of the story. Basically, I was just going to mention the verdict and move on to other things. But, a few chapters back, people started voicing excitement/concern about the upcoming trial, and it got me thinking that maybe I should do something a little more with it. I wasn't sure, initially, if it was going to work, because I've never written any kind of courtroom procedural or drama before, and don't particularly like reading about them myself. But then I thought, hey. This is an angel trial, so if I change things a little, it won't matter! I also started warming to the idea because it was giving me the opportunity to expand on all of the ideas I had for how this world works and the different views people in this world have on angels and slavery. It also gave Cas the opportunity to tell his story... something I'd been wanting to explore but couldn't really fit in anywhere else.
> 
> So, yeah. That was my very long winded way of saying that I appreciate all of your comments, especially the ones that make me think about where I want to take this story. In the end, I think that the inclusion of the events of the trial improved the fic, and I actually rather like this chapter. 
> 
> Except for the length, good lord. I wanted to keep my alternating between Dean and Cas' points of view each chapter, and I wanted the entire trial to be from Dean's POV, so... that's what happened. Never so long of a chapter again, I promise. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit: 10/08/15: It looks like there will be another delay on the next chapter. It's about half way finished, but I've gotten caught up in editing an original project and that, along with my actual job, is taking up a lot of time. I don't want anyone to worry about this work being abandoned because it most definitely is not, but it's just going to be a little longer before I can get this chapter up. This next chapter is also shaping up to be quite long, so when this fic does update, I hope it will be worth it.


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the first part of a much, much longer chapter. I decided to split it for two reasons. First, this first part of the chapter seemed more different in tone than the rest of it, and there was just too much going on for one chapter. Secondly, my original project was taking longer than I'd anticipated, and I was feeling super guilty about not updating this fic. 
> 
>  
> 
> As always, any feedback is appreciated!

 

Chapter 9

 

It was a relief to walk back to the Impala without having to wade through a throng of protesters. Mrs. Hudson had been true to her word. Dean still seemed slightly anxious as they made their way across the parking lot, keeping one hand on Castiel’s arm and hurrying them along. He only seemed to relax once both doors to the Impala had slammed shut, locking the two of them safely inside the car.

“Okay,” said Dean. “Let’s get those handcuffs off.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a small, silver key engraved in Enochian, gesturing for Castiel to raise his cuffed hands. Castiel half raised his hands before hesitating, the chain clinking against the bracelets as he drew back out of Dean’s reach at the last minute.

“What the hell, Cas?” asked Dean, key still extended into the space between them.

“Please,” said Castiel. “If we could just… wait. Until we get back to the house.”

“Why? You’re not on trial anymore. You don’t have to wear the cuffs. The collar, technically, still needs to be on, but we’re on the way home and we’re not stopping. I could remove both.”

Still, Castiel hesitated, finding it difficult to articulate his reluctance. The outcome of the trial had been favorable, far beyond his expectations. He’d be able to live, not freely, technically, and his life would most likely end sooner than was natural for collarless angels, but he’d be with Dean. It seemed too good to be true; so fragile that the simple act of unlocking cuffs and collar could destroy it.

“I… I would prefer to wait,” said Castiel at last. “In case something happens.”

“Like what?”

At least a dozen possibilities immediately came to mind, none of which Castiel wished to bother Dean with.

“I do not know,” said Castiel. “I would just rather not take chances.”

“But you’re in pain,” said Dean.

“It’s manageable,” said Castiel.

Dean looked as though he wanted to argue, but in the end sighed, slipped the key back into his pocket, and started the car.

“If that’s what you want,” he said over the rumble of the Impala’s engine.

“Thank-you,” said Castiel softly, slumping against the passenger door.

The ordeal of the trial had been more draining than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t just the stress of watching the testimonies, or even of Abbadon’s attack. Castiel had been constantly worrying that Dean would do something dangerous, something that would irrevocably end his career, or worse, his life. That the events of the trial would damage Sam’s reputation to the point that he would no longer be able to support his family. That John would cause even more problems for his sons. That Gabriel would lose his temper and wind up executed himself. That Julie’s impulsive outburst would land her in trouble, not only with her parents, but with the law as well.

Castiel had to keep reminding himself that it was over, the whole thing was over, and everyone had come out of it okay. The sun, which had been blazing overhead when they’d arrived, was in the process of disappearing below the horizon; Dean was in the car next to him, humming along with the music with one hand draped casually over the steering wheel, and the low level thrum of pain just beneath the surface of his skin from the cuffs and the collar was just that… low level, and would be gone soon enough. All was well.

“You sure you’re alright?” came Dean’s voice from his left.

Castiel straightened, trying not to look as weary as he felt.

“Of course,” he said, meeting Dean’s gaze and attempting a reassuring smile.

Dean turned back to the road, looking pleased, as he always did whenever he managed to make Castiel smile. Castiel watched him, and resolved to smile more often.

******

The sun had fully set by the time they returned to the farmhouse. Dean toed off his shoes and shrugged out of his suit jacket immediately upon entering the house, even before turning on the lights.

“Frigging monkey suits,” he grumbled, flipping the light switch.

He gestured for Castiel to climb the stairs ahead of him, yanking his tie loose with one hand as Castiel complied. Castiel felt Dean’s hand on the small of his back, steadying him as he ascended the staircase, though it was Castiel’s wrists that were bound and not his feet, and he was thus perfectly capable of navigating the steps on his own.

“Let’s stop in my room, first,” said Dean. “I’ll get you some clothes to change into, and we can get rid of the rest of this shit right now.”

He pushed his bedroom door open and led Castiel inside, leaving him standing at the foot of the bed as Dean looked through his chest of drawers, finally selecting a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt.

“We’re gonna have to get you some clothes of your own,” said Dean, tossing the bundle onto the bed. “Something you actually like, and that you picked out for yourself. Sound good?”

Castiel rather enjoyed wearing Dean’s clothes, loved the way Dean’s scent lingered in the fabric and seemed to envelope him. He knew that it wasn’t exactly appropriate conduct to voice such thoughts, and settled for merely nodding in agreement. After all, it certainly wasn’t fair for Dean to have to continue giving up his wardrobe.

“Okay, here we go,” said Dean, and Castiel saw he had the sliver key in his hand once again.

Castiel lifted his hands so that Dean could have better access, watching as Dean’s brow furrowed in concentration as he used one hand to support Castiel’s wrists while fiddling with the key with the other.

“Never again,” said Dean as the cuffs clicked open. “I swear to you Cas, I’ll never ask you to put any of this on again.”

“It served its purpose,” said Castiel. “The trial outcome was favorable.”

“We kicked Abaddon’s ass, is what you mean,” said Dean. “Or, you did, anyway.”

The handcuffs dropped to the carpet with a muffled thunk, and Dean was left cradling Castiel’s hands in his own.

“She was in so much pain,” murmured Castiel, closing his eyes as Dean’s thumbs rubbed soothing circles along the insides of his wrists, much the same as he’d done earlier in the day, in the car before the start of the trial.

“You barely touched her,” said Dean. “And you healed her right after.”

“Not physical pain,” said Castiel. “Emotional pain. Pain I couldn’t do anything about. She lost her entire family, Dean.”

“She nearly killed you. Don’t waste any sympathy on her.”

Castiel wanted to tell him that there was no such thing as wasted sympathy and that, after touching the sorrow and anger that resided in Abaddon’s soul, he would argue that she was more deserving of sympathy than some. He wanted to tell Dean all of that, but before he could, Dean lifted Castiel’s hands and pressed his lips to the area of skin where the handcuff bracelets had lain.

Castiel’s eyes flew open, and any thoughts of Abaddon or anything else, vanished as Dean continued to mouth the skin of his wrists; as though kisses would erase the fact that the cuffs had ever been there. Dean finished with the right wrist, and moved on to the left, not in any kind of hurry. He raised his eyes to meet Castiel’s as he finished.

“Turn around for a second?” asked Dean, carefully lowering Castiel’s hands.

Castiel obliged, shivering as he felt Dean’s fingers ghosting over the skin just below his collar before finding the clasp. Dean’s breath tickled the back of his neck as Dean whispered the incantation that allowed the collar to spring open. Castiel’s eyes fell closed again as the last of the pain faded, and his grace returned to full strength. Dean trailed kisses over flesh previously hidden by leather, and Castiel didn’t resist as Dean grasped his shoulders and slowly rotated him until they were facing each other once more.

“Never again,” repeated Dean. “I promise.”

His voice broke over the last word, and Castiel opened his eyes to find that, though Dean’s eyes were dry, he appeared to be having difficulty swallowing.  

“Dean,” said Castiel, plucking Dean’s hands off of his shoulders and folding his own around them, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Please, Cas,” said Dean, dropping his gaze, “Just… let me?”

Castiel nodded and released Dean’s hands, standing perfectly still as his tunic was pulled over his head and dropped to the floor with a quiet swish of cotton. Dean continued planting kisses over Castiel’s shoulders and up and down his arms; everywhere the slave uniform had touched, slow, methodical, and earnest.

Castiel’s wings strained to be brought forth, a curious sensation that Castiel never had to contend with before. Generally, it required a bit of effort to manifest his wings (when awake, at least) particularly in the presence of a human. No longer; it seemed that the very hint of Dean’s lips and hands on Castiel’s skin was enough to have his wings acting as a single minded entity that yearned to touch and to be touched.

It took some concentration, for what Dean was doing felt amazing; but Castiel managed to resist. He didn’t want Dean to think that he was trying to distract him, and he sensed that what Dean was doing didn’t really have anything to do with sex. It was just Dean’s impossible desire to negate every bad thing that had ever happened to Castiel.

Dean gave a hiss of displeasure, and Castiel looked down to see that he’d reached the area that Abaddon had slashed earlier. Castiel watched Dean trail soft, barely there kisses up and down the long, pink scar, as though that alone would be enough to erase it from existence.

“It doesn’t hurt,” said Castiel. “Gabriel did an excellent job of healing it.”

“I know,” said Dean, his mouth moving against Castiel’s clavicle.

“The mark will fade in a few days.”

“I know.”

Dean planted one more row of kisses over the scar before moving on, down over Castiel’s pectorals and abdomen. Castiel began to find it difficult to control his breathing, to hold still, and braced one hand on Dean’s shoulder to steady himself as Dean moved lower, finally untying the black string that served as a belt on slave uniforms. The loose fitting garment pooled around Castiel’s ankles, and if Dean was surprised to find that Castiel was already half hard, he made no mention of it. He simply turned his attention to Castiel’s right thigh, knee, and calf before repeating the actions on Castiel’s other leg. Castiel’s thighs trembled as Dean’s stubble scraped across the sensitive skin there, and he felt heat start to build low in his abdomen.

“There,” said Dean, planting one last kiss on Castiel’s left ankle. “I know it doesn’t really fix anything, but…” Dean trailed off, sat back on his heels, and whatever he saw in Castiel’s expression caused a grin to spread slowly over his face.

Castiel’s legs nearly gave way in relief at this more normal behavior from Dean.

“Are you alright?” he asked, peering into the green eyes blinking at him from several feet below where he was used to seeing them.

“All good,” said Dean, still grinning. “How ‘bout you? You’re looking a little flushed, there, Cas.”

In answer, Castiel grabbed two handfuls of Dean’s white dress shirt and hauled him to his feet, ignoring Dean’s startled yelp.

They stood for a handful of seconds, less than an inch of space between them, lips parted, breathing each other’s air. Castiel’s fingers fumbled with Dean’s already loosened tie, finally tugging it over his head and tossing it aside. He’d intended to move on to Dean’s shirt next, but instead found himself closing the negligible distance between them and locking their lips together, his tongue searching out the wet heat of Dean’s mouth, surprising himself with his boldness; still unused to the intensity of his body’s _need_ when it came to Dean.

Dean kissed back with just as much enthusiasm, tongue twining with Castiel’s, teeth clicking together. Castiel pawed ineffectively at Dean’s shirt, seeking skin, but unwilling to step back long enough to undo the buttons. He eventually managed to un-tuck the shirt and shove his hands beneath it, smoothing his hands over the muscles of Dean’s back and unabashedly grinding their hips together. He needed more, but was unsure of how to articulate it, unsure of what to ask for, and was unable to stop the frustrated noise that escaped when they briefly broke apart for air.

“Hey, now, take it easy,” panted Dean. “Not all of us have the ability to override our need for breathing with a fancy pants grace, you know.”

Dean’s hand drifted down between them and closed around Castiel’s erection. Castiel’s hips bucked forward in response, his hands clamping tight over Dean’s shoulders. He choked out a strangled sound that might have been Dean’s name. Dean leaned forward, his lips brushing against Castiel’s ear as he spoke.

“You want me to take care of that for you?” he asked, slightly increasing the pressure of his hand.

“Yes,” breathed Castiel. “Oh, yes.”

Dean locked his other arm around Castiel’s waist and swung around half a step. The backs of Castiel’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he slithered down until he was sitting, legs slightly spread and feet planted firmly on the floor. Dean’s hand began to move, and Castiel leaned back on his elbows, thrusting into the circle of Dean’s fist, his head tipped back between his shoulders.

Heat, slick and silky smooth suddenly closed around the tip of his cock. Castiel moaned, his hands gripping clumps of the bedding on either side of him. He looked down, somewhat confused to only see the top of Dean’s head. Belatedly realizing what was happening, he lifted his hands, trying to push Dean away and scramble farther up the bed at the same time.

“No!” he gasped. “No, Dean, you don’t have to—“

“Cas. Stop,” said Dean, placing a hand on Castiel’s knee to steady him. “I know I don’t have to. I _want_ to.”

“No,” said Castiel again, no longer trying to move away, but still holding Dean at arm’s length. “No one wants to. I know. I…”

He paused, overwhelmed by images of Master. Of Alastair. Of feeling as though he were suffocating. Of feathers being ripped right out of his wings.

“Cas,” said Dean softly, his hands moving up to frame Castiel’s face. “Hey. You with me?”

Castiel let out a shaky breath, his eyes refocusing on Dean’s. His body sagged as he relaxed a little under the warmth and affection in Dean’s eyes. But he had to tell him, had to make sure he understood…

“Dean, you must know that I would never ask you to… to…”

Dean silenced him by pressing a light kiss to his lips before resting their foreheads together. Castiel relaxed further, because this was familiar. This was safe.

“I know you wouldn’t,” said Dean. “I know. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to.”

“Impossible,” whispered Castiel.

“It’s not,” said Dean. “Cas, what those bastards did to you, what they forced you to do, was horrible. It was evil. And it wasn’t anything like what happens between two consenting adults who just want to make each other feel good.”

Castiel didn’t answer, wasn’t entirely sure if he believed what Dean was saying. Dean slowly eased back until he was sitting on the corner of the bed.

“Bottom line, I would never do anything that would hurt you,” he said. “If you tell me that you don’t want me going down on you because you don’t like the way it feels, then that’s it. End of discussion. But if you’re saying no just because you’re afraid it’s going to be painful or degrading for me, well… you don’t have to worry. I like it, Cas. I want to make you feel good. It did feel good, didn’t it?”

It felt wonderful. Castiel’s erection had flagged, some, in his panic, but the mere memory of Dean’s hot, perfect mouth on him triggered a rush of arousal.

“Yes,” he admitted, finding himself a little short of breath.

Dean smiled.

“Yeah it did,” he said. “Because I’m damn good.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the tiny smile that crept over his features. Dean winked.

“So, do you want to try again?”

Castiel nodded, and Dean’s grin widened. Castiel expected him to start where he’d left off, but instead Dean brought their lips together in a soft kiss, easing Castiel down until his back was flush with the mattress, his feet still on the floor. He gradually deepened the kisses; his hands roaming over Castiel’s arms and shoulders, his pace excruciatingly slow. It felt nice, magnificent, really, but Castiel soon found that desire building inside of him once again for something more. He still wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted, but he knew that what was happening wasn’t enough.

Castiel’s hands found their way beneath Dean’s shirt once more, skimming over the knobs of Dean’s spine. Dean shivered, and Castiel took advantage of the brief moment of inattention to speed things up on his own, thrusting his tongue deeper into Dean’s mouth and rutting against the coarse fabric of Dean’s slacks. Dean groaned and backed off slightly.

“Fuck, Cas, you… you really do fight dirty,” said Dean, trying to catch his breath. “Keep it up and… you’re gonna end the party before we even get started.”

Castiel barely heard him, for Dean’s change of position had brought his belt buckle within reach, and Castiel made a grab for it, thinking vaguely that Dean was wearing entirely too many clothes. Dean caught him by the wrists and shook his head, eyes gleaming, mouthing kisses onto both of Castiel’s palms as he inched his way off of the bed, landing on his knees between Castiel’s legs.

He ran his hands lightly up over Castiel’s thighs, stopping when he reached Castiel’s hips, spreading his palms over Castiel’s lower abdomen and watching the muscles jump. Dean raised his eyes to meet Castiel’s, silently asking permission one more time. Castiel nodded, and Dean dropped his head, swallowing Castiel down until his nose brushed against brown curls of hair.

Castiel cried out in surprise, and would have arched right off of the bed had Dean not been grasping his hips. His hands scrambled for purchase in the folds of the comforter, and he threw back his head, murmuring nonsense as Dean hollowed his cheeks and began bobbing his head. It was exquisite, pressure and heat and Dean, all around him. Castiel had never imagined that anything in the world could feel so good, and hardly noticed when Dean grabbed one of his hands and placed it on top of Dean’s head.

After that first initial reaction, Castiel fought to keep his hips as still as possible. It was difficult, for everything that Dean was doing had his body desperate to move, to thrust up into that glorious wet heat. Even through the haze of pleasure, however, Castiel was afraid of hurting Dean, and he resisted the urge.

Castiel’s eyes closed and contented sighs spilled out of his mouth, one after another, as Dean settled into a rhythm. Though he managed to keep from rolling his hips, he could feel his toes curling. His head thrashed from side to side, and it became more and more of a challenge to contain the heat the pooled in the pit of his stomach.

Dean pulled back slightly, swirling his tongue around the head, and Castiel’s fingers involuntarily tightened in Dean’s hair. Castiel had been concentrating so much on not moving his hips that he’d completely forgotten about the hand Dean had placed on his head. Before he could huff out an apology, Dean dipped his head and took more of Castiel in, moaning around him as he did so.

“Oh!” gasped Castiel, as vibrations coursed through him. He tentatively gripped a little more of Dean’s hair and was rewarded with another moan resulting in more of those delicious vibrations. Dean really did seem to be enjoying himself, Castiel realized. At that same moment, Dean began laving at the shaft with his tongue as he bobbed up and down, squeezing the base at the same time.

The new sensation caused him to completely lose control of his wings, and they manifested with an especially loud rustling of feathers, beating the air on either side of the bed as Castiel’s pleasure continued to build. Dean’s eyes darted from left to right as he took in this new development, but his mouth never stopped moving, and soon Castiel felt the same heat radiating from his groin over his abdomen and thighs that he’d felt the previous evening in the hammock.

“Dean!” he panted. “Dean I’m… I’m going to… ejaculate!”

Dean made a sharp noise that sounded vaguely like a “ha!” and got a more secure hold on Castiel’s hips, keeping him in place even as Castiel tried to slide away. With one more tremendous flap of his wings, Castiel’s orgasm hit. Dean’s lips stayed firmly attached to Castiel’s cock as he swallowed, and he slowly bobbed his head up and down as Castiel twitched through the aftershocks, pulling off at last when Castiel’s cock began to soften.

“So,” he said, leaning over Castiel as he lay dazed, his wings lightly fanning the air, “What’d you think?”

“Dean,” said Castiel, “I had no idea. No idea it would be so… so… Dean, there aren’t words to describe—“

Castiel cut himself off and pulled Dean down into a bruising kiss. Caught off guard, Dean toppled over in a graceless heap; his upper half sprawled over Castiel’s chest, and his lower half completely off of the bed.

“One thing,” said Dean, as they broke apart and he situated himself more comfortably on the bed next to Castiel, careful to avoid crushing the nearest wing. “When you’re gonna come, just say come.”

Castiel squinted in confusion.

“When I’m about to ejaculate, you mean?”

Dean dropped his head and guffawed.

“Yes,” he said, once he’d recovered. “Say come. Ejaculate makes you sound like a damn scientist.”

“Alright,” said Castiel, not bothering to puzzle over humans and their strange idiosyncrasies.

He idly traced his fingers over the seam of Dean’s shirt, mentally preparing for the question that was at the foremost of his mind.

“Dean,” said Castiel, “Did you… was it really pleasurable for you?”

Without taking his eyes off of Castiel’s, Dean plucked the hand that was playing with his shirt away and guided it down to cup the bulge in the front of his slacks. Castiel dropped his gaze to confirm with his eyes what he was feeling, and looked up again.

“How strange,” he mused.

Dean shook his head.

“It’s not strange,” he said. “This is how it’s supposed to be. It’s supposed to be incredible. For both partners. That’s why they call them partners. You really have no idea, do you?”

Castiel shrugged. He knew that sex was a driving force for humans, of course, but he’d always assumed that one person’s pleasure was at the expense of another’s. Why else would humans turn to angels?

Dean leaned over and pecked Castiel on the lips.

“You’ll get there,” he said. “Luckily, this is one of my areas of expertise. Lesson one. How giving a blowjob results in this.”

Dean indicated his crotch and kissed Castiel again, his tongue barely flicking over Castiel’s lips before he pulled back just far enough to talk.

“It’s how you feel,” said Dean, his breath warm on Castiel’s cheek, “It’s how you taste.”

He leaned in for another kiss, his lips sliding over Castiel’s, his words flowing directly inside of Castiel’s mouth.

“It’s the noises you make,” said Dean, his voice scarcely more than a whisper, “It’s being able to watch you completely lose yourself in something good, for once, to the point where your wings just go crazy.”

Dean pulled away so that Castiel could see his smile.

“I think that was my favorite part,” he said.

“I think I’m beginning to understand,” said Castiel, his hands drifting to Dean’s belt.

Once Dean had divested himself of the rest of his clothing, Castiel gripped his shoulders and expertly flipped him over to lie on his back. Castiel loomed over him, his wings slightly flared, the feathers lazily dragging over Dean’s chest and shoulders.

“Love your feathers, Cas,” murmured Dean, eyes closing.

“I’m aware,” said Castiel, continuing to move his feathers over Dean as he crawled backwards down the length of the bed, intending to settle himself between Dean’s legs and return the favor to the best of his ability.

Dean opened his eyes and lifted his head when he felt Castiel’s weight shift, and dropped a hand onto Castiel’s forearm.

“Hey,” he said, “Stay up here with me, okay? Gotta see those baby blues.”

Castiel halted his backward momentum, and stared at Dean in confusion. Was he not expected to reciprocate? He was more than willing to do so, after the immense pleasure Dean had just provided him (perhaps he was a little anxious, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle), and after Dean’s talk of partners, Castiel was almost positive that reciprocation was expected.

Dean didn’t say anything more, though, just gave a little tug on Castiel’s arm, his lips curved in a gentle smile. Well, then. In the end, it was really up to Dean what he wanted, and certainly not for Castiel to decide. Castiel thought for a moment, trying to determine the best way to respect Dean’s wishes and to also ensure that he achieved orgasm.

Plan in place, Castiel crawled over to Dean and positioned himself at his side.

“Hey, Cas,” said Dean, blinking up at him languidly, turning his head to the side so that the feathers stroking his neck had more access.

“Hello, Dean,” said Castiel. “Stay still.”

“What?” said Dean, as Castiel straddled his belly, just above his hips. Castiel rested most of his weight on his knees, his buttocks and crotch just lightly touching Dean.

“Can you see my eyes from here?” asked Castiel, gravely.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “I can see your eyes. What… what are you doing?”

Castiel didn’t answer, occupied with getting his wings into place, angling them sharply and adjusting his stance ever so slightly so that everything would fit. He braced his arms on Dean’s shoulders, leaning forward just a bit, and lowered his wings, trapping Dean’s semi-erect cock between the two largest wing joints.

“Fuck!” wheezed Dean, his head dropping back down onto the pillow.

Castiel closed his eyes and concentrated, moving the wing joints up and down, up and down, up and down. He could feel Dean’s breath hitching beneath him.

“F- Feathers,” gasped Dean. “Fuck, Cas.”

Once he was sure of which wing movements were effective, Castiel opened his eyes. Dean’s own eyes were wide and dark, and staring up at Castiel with wonder. Dean’s cock was fully erect, now, and Castiel found it much easier to keep the wing joints in place as he massaged. He experimented with different amounts of pressure and different rubbing motions. Dean nearly bucked Castiel off of him when Castiel started moving the wings in counterclockwise circles as he drew them up and down the length of Dean’s shaft.

“Yes!” cried Dean hoarsely. “Just like that!”

Castiel began kneading Dean’s shoulders with his hands, moving at a leisurely pace down to his chest, massaging Dean’s upper body with his hands as his wings massaged Dean’s cock. A shudder passed over Dean’s entire body, and Castiel eased up on the pressure of both his hands and his wings, concerned that he’d hurt Dean somehow. Dean clasped a hand over Castiel’s left wrist.

“Don’t stop,” he said, breathless. “Please, don’t… so good.”

Castiel resumed motion with both sets of limbs, and dipped his head forward to curl his tongue around first Dean’s right nipple, and then the left. Dean groaned so deeply that Castiel could feel it.

“Cas,” said Dean, sounding agitated, “Gonna come, Cas. Gonna come! Don’t want to… get your wings… dirty.”

Castiel kept his wings right where they were, and bit down gently on Dean’s left nipple. Dean shouted Castiel’s name, his hands clamping around Castiel’s wrists. He writhed beneath Castiel as he ejaculated… as he _came_ , Castiel corrected himself… and Castiel looked over his shoulder to see white streaks coating the black of his feathers. Somehow, the sight sent blood rushing to _his_ groin, and he turned away so that he could focus on getting Dean through his orgasm.

When it was over, with a mere thought, Castiel summoned a small pulse of grace to clean them both up.

“Was that acceptable?” he asked, swinging one leg over Dean’s stomach so that he was crouched beside him instead of straddling him.

As he waited for Dean to answer, Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s chest, marveling at how quickly the staccato beat of his heart slowed to normal, and how little time it took for his breathing to even out. The human body really was a remarkable thing.

Dean propped himself up on one elbow.

“Come on, Cas. You really have to ask?”

Castiel looked away.

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” he said. “My wings… I didn’t know if it would… if you would…”

Dean sat up the rest of the way.

“Cas,” he said seriously, “That was the single most incredible experience I’ve ever had in my life. Because it was _you_. Because they were _your_ wings.”

Here Dean paused, and ran his hand as far along the length of one of Castiel’s wings as he could, watching as the little feathers fluffed up at his touch. Castiel watched Dean watching and moved his wing closer so that Dean could reach more of it. His worry that he hadn’t done enough, that he hadn’t been good enough, began to dissipate.

“And now I have a question,” said Dean, tearing his eyes away from the feathers. “Was this, what we just did, was it pleasurable for you?”

Castiel didn’t even try to hold back his smile. He pulled Dean close, wrapping both his arms and his wings tightly around him.

“I’m going to assume that’s a yes,” said Dean, his voice slightly muffled because his face was mashed against Castiel’s shoulder.

“Yes, yes, of course,” babbled Castiel, his wings tightening even more around Dean, “It’s astonishing, really, how gratifying it is to give pleasure. Watching you…”

Castiel trailed off as Dean somehow freed his arms from the confines of Castiel’s wings and draped them over Castiel’s shoulders.

“You don’t have to try to explain,” said Dean, leaning in for a kiss, “I know exactly what you mean.”

Their lips met in a soft, affectionate kiss, which continued as Castiel loosened his hold on Dean enough for Dean to reach over and turn off the lamp and for them to lie down. Dean ended the kiss when he ran out of air, gulping in deep breaths, his face less than an inch from Castiel’s, their heads resting on the same pillow. Dean’s freckles stood out clearly against his skin in the light of the moon, Castiel noticed, and he couldn’t help reaching up with two fingers to lightly touch them.

Dean’s hand found its way to Castiel’s wing, rhythmically petting him almost as one would a cat. Castiel leaned into the touch, nuzzling into the crook of Dean’s neck and breathing in his scent, lost in the sensation of the warmth of Dean’s hand on his feathers. The petting stopped as Dean drifted off to sleep, but his hand remained in place, resting lightly over the area of newest feather growth, the area that had been most severely injured during that last session with Alastair.

Castiel closed his eyes, preparing to meditate. He felt tired, drained. It was because of the trial, certainly, but was also partly due to something else. It couldn’t have been from the collar or cuffs… neither of those implements had been powerful enough to cause more than mild discomfort while in contact with Castiel’s grace. This felt different, and it made Castiel vaguely uneasy that he couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact cause.

******

Rays of sunlight peeked through the blinds covering Dean’s windows as Castiel pulled himself from his meditative state early the next morning. Dean was still cocooned in Castiel’s wings, one hand still resting over the area of new feather growth, still sleeping soundly. Castiel smiled down at him, taking a moment to appreciate the way his eyelashes brushed against his high cheekbones and the way his full lips parted slightly as he breathed.

Castiel’s grace felt as thought it was completely back to normal. Whatever had caused the strange fatigue the previous evening had been easily remedied by a few hours of meditation. Perhaps Castiel had been mistaken, and everything really had just been the result of the stress of the trial.

Dean’s eyelids fluttered, and he murmured nonsensically, huddling closer to Castiel. Castiel recognized the very early stages of waking and dropped a quick kiss onto Dean’s forehead. Dean scrunched his nose up and burrowed closer still, his erection poking into Castiel’s thigh. This sort of thing was normal in human males, Castiel knew, and he was halfway to ignoring it before he remembered what Dean had done for him the previous night, and that he hadn’t really had a chance to properly return the favor. He wanted to try, to experience how Dean said it felt, to see if it would be the same for him.

Slowly, taking extra care not to disturb Dean any more than was necessary; Castiel unwound his wings and allowed Dean to roll onto his back. Dean frowned at the loss of contact, and his face twitched, but he remained asleep. Castiel gently spread Dean’s legs and settled himself between them. He rested his hands on Dean’s hips and, taking a deep breath, bent his head and licked a stripe up the underside of Dean’s cock, from the base to the tip.

“Cas,” breathed Dean, eyes opening halfway, though he obviously wasn’t quite conscious.

Castiel trailed a series of wet, open-mouthed kisses down the topside of Dean’s cock, tip to base. Dean gave a soft moan, and automatically spread his legs a little farther. Castiel gripped the base with one hand and, copying what Dean had done the previous evening, sealed his lips over the tip and swirled his tongue around.

Dean uttered a wordless shout, his head and shoulders coming up off of the bed. His mouth fell open, and he gazed at Castiel in wide-eyed amazement.

“Thought I was—ngh—dreaming,” gasped Dean as Castiel ducked his head lower, sliding his tongue along the vein on the underside of Dean’s shaft.

He discovered that he enjoyed the weight of Dean on his tongue, and the taste of him, clean and musky and so different from the sour tang of Master and Alastair. Castiel hollowed out his cheeks and increased the pressure of his lips. Dean moaned and rolled his hips, pushing his cock farther than Castiel had expected. Dean wheezed a breathless apology, but Castiel found that he didn’t mind, that he liked it, even. That he could cause Dean, who was always so careful, so afraid of overstepping, of taking things too far; to come so completely undone.

Of their own accord, Castiel’s wings rose up from where he’d folded them over his back, reaching out to Dean. Dean grasped at the long flight feathers, and for an instant, Castiel panicked, nearly choking. He pulled off, breathing deeply, his grip on Dean’s hip tightening. In his mind he heard Master’s cruel laugh, felt the hot lance of pain as his feathers were bent, snapped, ripped away from his body.

Castiel’s only thought was to get away, and in his haste he knocked against Dean’s leg. It slowed him down enough that he was able to recognize that it was Dean’s fingers slipping between the sensitive flight feathers at his wingtips, that it was Dean’s hands, gentle and sure, skimming over smaller feathers farther up the wing, toward the large joint.

Rebalancing himself, Castiel armed the sweat off of his forehead. The whole episode had lasted maybe a second or two. Dean, his view of Castiel blocked by wings, continued to caress as far along Castiel’s wingspan as he could reach, apparently not having noticed that anything was wrong. Castiel knew it wouldn’t last, though, knew that he had only moments before Dean caught on.

Castiel smoothed his hands over Dean’s upper thighs, resting one hand on Dean’s hip and rolling his testicles… _balls_ , Castiel corrected himself, remembering that Dean seemed to prefer slang to anatomical terms… with the other. Dean moaned again, and Castiel smiled, the memory of his fear fading, overtaken by the satisfaction of wringing such beautiful sounds out of Dean.

Saliva flooded Castiel’s mouth, and he was startled to realize how eager he was to get his mouth back onto Dean’s cock. In one fluid motion, he swallowed Dean down, taking him in all the way. Dean gasped, as though all of the air had been punched from his body, and held onto Castiel’s wings like a lifeline.

In a fit of inspiration, Castiel made a series of swallowing motions, effectively massaging Dean’s cock with his throat. Dean uttered several hoarse expletives, his entire body shuddering, but his hips remained flat on the bed. He began rubbing circles on Castiel’s wings with his palms in time with Castiel’s little swallows, and Castiel felt his own cock stirring to life.

“Cas,” said Dean, his words coming out in short, gasping moans. “Amazing... Cas… Please don’t… don’t stop, Cas…”

Castiel continued making the swallowing motions a little while longer, then pulled almost all the way off until there was just the head between his lips. He tongued at the slit, lapping up the bead of precome forming there, Dean’s hands on his wings and his breathless moans and whimpers intensifying his arousal as Castiel’s cock hardened, curving up toward his stomach.

Castiel bobbed his head up and down, taking in more of Dean each time, until he’d swallowed him completely again, making the little massaging motions with his throat.

“Close, Cas,” groaned Dean, raking his fingers through Castiel’s feathers.

Castiel was close, too, his thighs starting to seize up and his vision going hazy. He didn’t want to stop, though. He didn’t want to pull off before Dean finished.

He lasted until Dean started to ejaculate… to _come_ … lasted until he felt that first salty taste of Dean on his tongue… until he heard Dean’s strangled cry. And then he just couldn’t anymore, and pulled away, afraid of inadvertently biting Dean. His wings flared and he threw his head back, moaning as come spurted all over Dean’s thighs, groin, and the bedding.

“I’m sorry,” he panted as he finished. “So sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean to—“

“Are you kidding me?” said Dean, grabbing Castiel’s arms, hauling him up the bed, and drawing him into a sloppy kiss. “That was goddamn beautiful. You’re awesome, Cas. So awesome.”

He kissed Castiel again, and this time Castiel managed to gather his wits enough to kiss him back, his fingers tracing the line of Dean’s jaw, Dean’s fingers once again finding Castiel’s wings. Castiel rested his head on Dean’s shoulder as they broke apart, once more feeling that odd lethargy.

“That was a hell of a wake up call,” said Dean.

“I hoped you’d enjoy it,” said Castiel, planting a kiss on the freckled skin just past the point of Dean’s shoulder.

“And you’re sure you’re okay?” said Dean.

“Very much so,” said Castiel.

He smiled into Dean’s neck, and felt Dean sigh in contentment. They remained like that for a few minutes, until Castiel shifted a little, trying to keep his full weight off of Dean. He then realized that there was semen smeared all over both of them. Dean wasn’t complaining, but Castiel knew it couldn’t be comfortable. He certainly didn’t like it.

The sudden stab of pain that lanced into Castiel’s grace after he cleaned them up caused him to inhale sharply in surprise.

“What is it?” asked Dean, rolling onto one elbow and looking Castiel up and down.

The pain receded as quickly as it had appeared.

“It’s nothing,” said Castiel. “Just a little twinge. It’s gone now.”

Dean looked skeptical.

“Has it ever happened before?”

Castiel shrugged.

“I don’t think so. It’s of no cause for concern. I feel fine, now.”

“Maybe you should take it easy today,” said Dean, looking only slightly reassured. “After everything that’s happened the last couple of days... you think it’s possible you just need to recharge a bit?”

“Perhaps,” said Castiel.

******

It turned out that Castiel and Dean didn’t share the same definition of “take it easy.”

“Outside, in the hot sun, working your ass off is not what I meant,” said Dean, as he and Castiel set the last of the beehives atop its sturdy cinderblock base.

“I haven’t used my grace at all,” said Castiel, patiently. They’d been having the same low-level argument about it all day.

Dean started ticking items off on his fingers.

“Weeding. Transplanting. Mulching. Edging. Building fucking beehives.”

“All. Without. Grace,” said Castiel, reaching out to test the stability of that last beehive.

Dean sighed.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking stubborn as shit, Cas?”

Castiel thought about it.

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever used that particular phrasing, no,” he said after a beat. “Though the sentiment is certainly familiar. Has anyone ever told you that you can be an annoying, overbearing ass?”

Dean initially looked shocked, but the shock quickly gave way to delight. Castiel was slightly puzzled by Dean’s reaction to the insult. He’d expected Dean to sling a mocking remark right back at him, to continue the quarrel. Castiel turned away with a mental shrug, and began picking up the small selection of tools they’d used on the hives. Dean’s arms wrapped around his waist as soon as he’d straightened.

“Sorry,” said Dean. “I just… got in the habit of worrying about you, I guess.”

“I feel fine, Dean. Completely normal.”

“Will you at least think about maybe eating some dinner tonight?”

Castiel leaned back and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder.

“Would that make you feel better?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Dean. “I would feel a lot better if you ate something. Take some of that pressure off of your grace.”

That wasn’t quite the way it worked, but Castiel certainly wasn’t going say as much to Dean.

“Alright,” he agreed, raising his chin to receive Dean’s kiss.

******

“So, I’m guessing that Mom’s famous spaghetti and meatballs is actually Hester’s famous spaghetti and meatballs, right?” said Dean, flicking on the oven light to check the garlic bread.

“Almost certainly,” said Castiel, arranging knives and forks next to the plates he’d just set out.

“Well, be prepared to send a thank-you to Hester, then, because this is going to be the most spectacular thing you’ve ever eaten.”

“You say that about everything you want me to eat,” said Castiel as he started to fold napkins.

He wasn’t going to admit it to Dean just then, but the food smelled amazing. He probably would have been tempted to try some even if he hadn’t already promised. Dean turned away from the oven, seemingly satisfied with the garlic bread’s progress. His eyes landed on the napkin in Castiel’s hands.

“What the? Is that a swan?”

“Yes,” said Castiel, holding up the finished product for Dean’s inspection. “I like them.”

“They’re kinda girly, don’t you think? For a table of two dudes?”

“Not any girlier than Dr. Sexy,” said Castiel mildly, placing the first swan on Dean’s plate and starting on another.

“What?” spluttered Dean. “Dr. Sexy is _not_ girly!”

“He wears make-up and designer cowboy boots. Is that not the definition of girly?”

“No,” said Dean. “It’s the definition of _Sexy_!”

Dean seemed to enjoy these faux arguments. In the early days after Dean had taken him in, Castiel hadn’t been quite sure of how to respond to Dean’s often perplexing comments and statements. He’d noticed Dean’s face falling each time Castiel had simply nodded or looked away in response. It had only been in the last week or so before the trial that Castiel had recognized the playful banter for what it was, and had tentatively attempted to fall back into the familiar rhythm of such exchanges with Dean, though he’d found concentrating to be challenging in the midst of all of his worry over the consequences the trial would have for Dean and Sam. He was finding it easier now, not even a full day after the ordeal. It reminded him of his life before being sold, when he and Dean used to spend days in a fierce competition to outdo each other in wit.

“I thought you said _I_ was the definition of sexy?” said Castiel.

Well. Maybe not every aspect of their repartee reminded him of his and Dean’s childhood.

The doorbell rang before Dean could formulate his response. Dean had only taken about three steps toward the entryway when Gabriel burst in.

“Wow!” he said, sniffing the air. “Something smells fantastic!”

“I thought I locked that door,” said Dean.

“You did,” said Aaron, following Gabriel inside, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Nice to see you, too, Dean,” said Gabriel.

Dean scowled in his direction, but Castiel could see there was no real anger behind it.

“Hello, Gabriel. Aaron,” said Castiel.

“Hey bro,” said Gabriel, sliding onto the stool next to Castiel’s. “How was your first full day of freedom? Or, your first day of closer than most of us will ever get to freedom, anyway?”

“It’s been pleasant,” said Castiel, ignoring the freedom comment.

Dean was already in the process of grabbing two more plates from the cupboard. That Gabriel would be eating went without saying.

“Have a seat,” said Dean to Aaron. “Spaghetti and meatballs tonight. Best you’ll ever eat.”

Aaron sat down next to Gabriel, picking up the folded napkin in front of him.

“Swans! Cool!”

Dean set the plates onto the table with a clatter.

“Really, Aaron?” he said.

“What?” said Aaron. “My grandma used to make these. Hey, Castiel, do you think you could teach me how?”

“Of course,” said Castiel, and Dean threw his hands up in defeat.

“I’m going to go grab a bottle of wine from the cellar,” said Dean. “Aaron? Any preference?”

Aaron looked up from the napkin swan.

“Preference? Like red or white?”

“And that answers that,” said Dean.

“So, anyway,” said Gabriel, once Dean left. He leaned in closer to Castiel, as though he were about to divulge a secret. Instead, he paused, squinted, and looked deep into Castiel’s eyes. Castiel blinked and scooted his stool back.

“Gabriel?”

“Are you feeling okay?” asked Gabriel.

“I’m fine,” said Castiel.

“You sure?” said Gabriel, still squinting, still staring. “Something just seems… not right.”

“Yes, I am sure that I’m fine,” said Castiel. It wasn’t a lie. He really had been feeling pretty good for the majority of the day.

“Huh,” said Gabriel, settling back down in his seat. “Maybe my radar’s a little off.” A smile spread over his face. “Maybe I’m a little distracted.”

Aaron dropped the swan and began to chant.

“Gabriel and Anna sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes… bondage. Then comes Gabe, pushing a baby carriage!”

“Bondage?” said Castiel.

“Aaron thinks he’s being cute,” said Gabriel.

“Oh,” said Castiel. “He’s referring to a grace bond? You and Anna? That’s wonderful!”

“What’s wonderful?” asked Dean, re-entering the kitchen and plunking a bottle of Chianti down onto the table. He went back to the cupboard and began searching for the wine glasses.

“Gabriel and Anna are going to be bonded,” said Castiel. Then, remembering the last bit of Aaron’s verse, “And a fledgling?”

Gabriel snorted.

“Please. As if I’d bring a fledgling into this world only to live a life of slavery. No, no fledgling. But Anna… she’s my mate.”

“Well, congratulations!” said Dean, clapping Gabriel on the shoulder.

He carefully set four long stemmed glasses onto the table.

“Don’t get too excited,” said Gabriel. “It isn’t going to happen for quite some time. Anna’s owners refuse to let her even talk to other angels, remember?”

Castiel did remember. He’d watched the brief interaction between the two of them the previous day. He opened his mouth, but Dean beat him to the question.

“So, how did this all get arranged?” asked Dean.

“Julie set up a meeting today in the park,” said Gabriel. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, since Anna seemed so…”

“Not that into you?” supplied Dean.

“Turns out,” continued Gabriel, as if Dean hadn’t spoken, “she was just afraid of punishment if her owners saw. Get her away from them, and she’s completely different. A little rebellious, even. Did you know she’s teaching that child Enochian? Right under her parents’ noses?”

“Yeah, actually, I did know that,” said Dean, and Castiel nodded in agreement.

“Well, anyway, she’s amazing. Stunning. She’s perfect.”

Dean looked as though he was going to laugh at Gabriel’s fervor, and Castiel gave him a clip on the ankle under the table. Gabriel’s eyes shown with unconcealed adoration for Anna and, though it was hard to fathom that obnoxious, insensitive, always-good-for-a-laugh Gabriel wouldn’t be in the mood for jokes, Castiel could see that this was, in fact, the case. Dean took the hint and restrained himself.

“How are you going to work out this bonding thing if Anna’s not even allowed to speak to you?” asked Dean, not a hint of amusement in his expression or tone. “Have Aaron appeal to the owners?”

“Actually,” said Aaron, “I did offer to buy Anna.”

Castiel was sure he was the only one who noticed Gabriel’s expression darken at Aaron’s words.

“But Julie said her parents would never sell,” continued Aaron.

“Figures,” said Dean.

“However,” said Gabriel, “She also said that Anna’s ownership will pass onto Julie when Julie turns 18.”

“And I’m betting Julie won’t have any problem giving her consent for you and Anna to be bonded?” said Dean.

“She’s going to do one better,” said Gabriel. “Julie’s going to free her.”

******

Later that evening, after Gabriel and Aaron had gone and the dishes had been cleared away (no leftovers, thanks to Gabriel), Castiel and Dean settled themselves on the couch with a bowl of popcorn to watch an episode of Dr. Sexy.

“I’m not sure if you should even be allowed to watch after calling him girly,” said Dean, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“It’s not an insult, Dean. And I’m quite positive he will not be bothered,” said Castiel. “Considering he doesn’t actually exist.”

“You shut your mouth,” mumbled Dean, his mouth full. Bits of popcorn sprayed onto Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel made a show of wiping the debris off of his face, then reached for the popcorn at the same time Dean did, their fingers brushing. Dean’s index finger curled around Castiel’s thumb, and Castiel’s middle finger traced over Dean’s knuckles.

It was strange to think how, just the previous day, everyone had been tense and anxious over the uncertainty of Castiel’s fate. And here he and Dean were, lounging on the couch and eating snacks; Dean’s face carefree and relaxed, able to simply live in the moment without that undercurrent of dread over what was to come.

“Crazy how much things can change in just a day, isn’t it?” said Dean, clearly having just had the same thought.

Castiel nodded and shuffled his fingers through the popcorn, flicking pieces out of the way until he was able to wrap his hand more securely around Dean’s.

Dean looked up at Castiel, and then down to where both of their wrists disappeared into the mound of popcorn.

“Cas,” said Dean. “Are we really holding hands in bowl of popcorn? Underneath all the popcorn?”

A flicker of doubt crept into Castiel’s mind.

“Is that… not right?” he said, loosening his grip. “Apologies, I—“

Dean’s hand tightened around Castiel’s, their fingers intertwining.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Great, actually.” And leaned in for a quick kiss.

Castiel sighed as they broke apart.

“There’s still much I do not know about human intimacy,” he said.

“Could’ve fooled me,” said Dean, resting his head against the back of the couch and giving Castiel’s fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Is it really that different for angels?”

“Yes,” said Castiel. “Human focus is very much on the physicality of a relationship. That isn’t a bad thing,” he added quickly, seeing Dean’s face fall ever so slightly. “It can be nice. Very nice.”

As though he felt the need to prove the validity of Castiel’s last words, Dean leaned in close and pressed their lips together. It started out chaste, but firm, until the gentle slide of Dean’s mouth against his own was suddenly not enough, and Castiel slanted his head to the side, deepening the kiss. Dean hummed in approval and hauled their hands out of the popcorn bowl, disentangling himself from Castiel along the way. Before Castiel had a chance to mourn the loss of contact, Dean brought his hands up to cup Castiel’s jaw, dragging his thumbs across Castiel’s cheekbones as his teeth grazed Castiel’s lower lip.

Dean ended the embrace before Castiel was quite ready, easing back just far enough that Castiel could take in every detail of his features without going cross-eyed, his hands continuing to frame Castiel’s face. Castiel stared, mesmerized by the perfectly placed dip of his upper lip, the faint flush of his skin, his utterly tantalizing earlobe.

“Just nice, Cas?” whispered Dean, eyes bright with amusement.

“Very nice,” said Castiel, matching Dean’s tone, unable to look away. “I believe I said very.”

“My mistake,” said Dean, leaning in again.

Dean’s hands left Castiel’s face as their lips met, drifting down to slip beneath the hem of Castiel’s T-shirt. Castiel drew in a shuddering breath as Dean’s hands roamed over the flat plane of his stomach and snaked around his waist, creeping up to his shoulder blades. He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on preventing his wings from ruining another of Dean’s T-shirts by manifesting in response Dean’s warm, calloused palms on his skin.

It was some time before they parted, breathless. Dean’s hands continued to trace random patterns over Castiel’s skin beneath the thin cotton of his T-shirt. Castiel was still finding it difficult to tear his gaze away from Dean’s, and thus saw the exact moment his expression changed; Dean’s smile faltering just a bit, the lines around his eyes and mouth becoming more pronounced.

“Is something wrong?” asked Castiel.

“Angels really don’t,” Dean indicated his and Castiel’s positions, “At all?”

Castiel shook his head.

“But Gabe… Gabe’s the biggest horndog on the planet. When he was living here… I mean, I still don’t know where some of my magazines are. And getting the virus off of my computer was damn near impossible.”

Castiel took his time before answering, trying to think of a way to explain angelic grace bonds in a way Dean would understand.

“While I have not discussed the subject with Gabriel,” said Castiel, “I would hazard a guess that he views human lust and sexuality with more curiosity than anything. And once he discovered physical pleasure, well, I’m sure he saw no reason to deny himself.”

“I’ll bet,” muttered Dean.

“But what he has with Anna is different. Deeper. They will be as one. A connection like that is so strong that every other kind of interaction pales in comparison.”

Castiel paused.

“How familiar are you with grace bonds?” he asked

Dean shrugged.

“Not very, I guess,” he said. “It’s not something that you guys ever really involve humans in, is it?”

“Not any more than was required,” agreed Castiel.

“Well,” said Dean, “I know that angels aren’t solitary… it’s in your nature to take a mate, isn’t it? And once you do, you mate for life. And if one member of a bonded pair were to die, the other would follow shortly thereafter, even if the second angel appeared to have been in good health previously. Um… there’s that thing right at the beginning, when angels are first bonded… they spend a week kind of isolated, I guess. That was one nice thing my dad always used to do. Whenever any of his angels were bonded, he always made sure they had somewhere comfortable and private where they could spend that first week together.”

“Niceness had nothing to do with it,” said Castiel. “It was a necessity. Especially when the angels involved were owned by two different families.”

Dean smiled.

“Seems like kind of a waste if no one’s getting lucky.”

Castiel knew that Dean was only human, that he couldn’t be faulted for something that wasn’t ever discussed in the presence of humans, that he had a tendency to make jokes when things got too serious, that he’d meant no harm.

Castiel knew all of that, but found himself pulling away from Dean all the same; rising from the couch and taking a step back.

“Cas?” asked Dean in confusion.

“I need a moment,” said Castiel, continuing to back up until he’d reached the living room door.

“Cas, hey. Wait a minute,” said Dean, standing and making as though to follow.

Castiel held up a hand to stop him.

“Please, don’t,” he said. “I just… I need… I have to go outside.”

Castiel turned away from Dean’s puzzled, slightly hurt expression and fled the house, moving quickly and silently through the kitchen, off of the porch, and over the lawn until he reached the hammock. Instead of climbing inside, he sat down at the base of the oak tree at an angle that afforded him a good view of the honeysuckle bush. Even though it was dusk, and he knew that there would be no bees out, the sight still gave him a small amount of comfort.

What was he thinking? There was a reason that humans, even those who worked as closely with angels as Dean did, knew little of angelic grace bonds. Such things were so far beyond the realm of human experience that they really couldn’t possibly be expected to understand. Castiel could almost see the contempt in Gabriel’s eyes if he were to find out that Castiel was speaking of such sacred traditions to any human… even Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading! Thought these two deserved something good to happen for once. More good things to come, but also more angst. 
> 
> As the next chapter was originally part of this one, it will also be from Castiel's point of view, slightly changing the Dean, Cas, Dean POV pattern. Chapter 12 will return to Dean's POV.


	11. Chapter 10

The moon had long since risen and the stars had come out when Castiel heard the front door open and close. Dean’s footsteps clunked down the wooden porch steps and swished through the grass. Castiel sighed as Dean drew closer, and turned to face him, bracing his back against the tree. Dean stopped in front of him, two steaming mugs in his hands, his shoulders slightly hunched and his head ducked. Castiel looked up at him without speaking.

He was reminded of that night weeks ago when Dean approached him in a similar fashion, offering friendship. Trust. It seemed as though so much time had passed since then. That night Castiel had been uncertain and, with memories of Crowley and Alastair still fresh in his mind, a little afraid of what Dean might be provoked into doing.

Castiel was no longer afraid. He was saddened by the reminder of how poorly angels were treated, of how hard they had to fight for even the most basic of their needs to be met. He was angry with himself, for though he knew well the abuses his fellow angels suffered at the hands of humans, he’d still managed to form a profound attachment to one of the creatures. It almost seemed like a betrayal.

Dean cleared his throat.

“Here,” he said, crouching down to offer one of the mugs to Castiel. “You looked cold.”

“My grace is at full power,” said Castiel. “I do not get cold.”

He watched as Dean sat back on his heels, the mug still extended in front of him, eyes still fixed on Castiel’s.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

“It is not—“

“Don’t say it’s not of import,” said Dean. “If it’s making you feel bad, then of course it’s of import. If it’s something I said, then I’m sorry. I’d like to say I won’t say it again, but I can’t do that unless you tell me what it is that’s bothering you. I say a lot of stupid stuff.”

The mug wobbled in Dean’s hand, and Castiel reached out to rescue it before anything spilled. It was filled with hot chocolate, the same as the last time Dean had come out to him like this. He took a sip, for the mug really was a bit over full, and savored the warm, creamy sweetness on his tongue. He thought that maybe he was getting to be almost as bad as Gabriel, the way he was succumbing to so many human vices. Castiel elected not to mention his descent into gluttony to Dean, instead saying,

“Thank you.”

Dean half-smiled and glanced at the space next to Castiel, raising his eyebrows. Castiel nodded, and Dean settled down to sit beside him, carefully cradling his own mug in his hands.

“You should drink it,” said Castiel, “while it’s still warm. Someone once told me it was better that way.”

Dean rolled his eyes but drank deeply from his mug all the same, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after he’d swallowed.

“Cas,” began Dean.

“It’s not your fault,” said Castiel, not waiting for him to finish. “Sometimes I forget how very human you are. How difficult it is for you to comprehend.”

“I want to understand,” said Dean. “I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

Castiel set his empty mug to the side and looped his arms around his knees, drawing them close to his chest. It really wasn’t proper to speak of such things with a human. But, it was Dean. His intentions were good, and Castiel felt he at least owed it to Dean to try, even if Dean couldn’t comprehend it in the end.

“A grace bond is more than just the linking together of two angels via their grace. Forming such a bond forever alters the very composition of both angels’ grace. The graces combine to create something completely different. This new, combined grace is unique to each angel pair, and thus, the angels involved have to almost relearn how to use and manage their powers.”

“I never knew that,” said Dean. “So, the week that newly mated angels spend in isolation is really for them to get their shit together and figure out how to function with a new grace?”

“Partly,” said Castiel. “There is a little more to it, however. A mated pair of angels instinctively want to be close to each other. Early on in the process, it’s imperative. The angels must learn to function together before they can exist apart. If a bonded pair of angels is not afforded that sacred time to be together, they will almost surely die.”

Dean didn’t speak for a few moments, and Castiel watched him closely, wondering if any of what he’d just said was registering. If Dean would understand why his earlier comment about the period of isolation not being worth it if no one was getting lucky was offensive.

“So, what my dad was doing… it wasn’t a kindness,” said Dean.

“It was the bare minimum,” said Castiel. “To return to service after such a short period of time, especially if the angels belonged to separate families, would be excruciatingly painful. The angels would be likely to survive, but not without damage.”

Dean shook his head and uttered a derisive laugh.

“Figures,” he said. “I thought that was the one decent thing about the old man. Should have known he’d never intentionally make life easy for his angels.”

“Sorry,” said Castiel.

“Not your fault,” said Dean. “I just… I wish I’d realized it sooner. Maybe I could have helped, not only you, but all of the other angels he owned.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“So,” said Dean, breaking the silence, “Is that why an angel and a human couldn’t be mated? I mean, a human wouldn’t really be able to contribute any power to the bond, so would it wind up hurting the angel? Would it damage your grace to be melded with my- I mean a human’s- soul?”

Castiel’s stomach lurched at the thought of Dean giving himself over wholly like that, even as his grace fluttered eagerly within him. It wasn’t Castiel’s grace that was at risk in that type of situation, it was Dean. Assuming a human could even survive the bond’s energy surge, the process would change him. Castiel couldn’t be sure exactly how, but there was no way a human soul could blend with an angel’s grace and come away completely unaffected. And for Dean to lose even the smallest part of himself was unthinkable.

“Cas?” said Dean.

“It would be impossible,” said Castiel. “Not even worth speaking of.”

“Yeah, okay, but—“

Castiel silenced him with a kiss, teasing the seam of Dean’s lips with his tongue until Dean opened up to him.

“Impossible,” he murmured into Dean’s mouth. “But there’s a lot to be said for this human way of bonding.”

“Mmmm,” breathed Dean, kissing back, his fingers tangling in Castiel’s hair.

Castiel shivered as Dean’s fingertips lightly brushed against his scalp, his own hands finding their way beneath Dean’s T-shirt, smoothing over the warm skin of his back. Dean’s lips left his, trailing kisses over his jaw and down the length of his neck until he reached the collar of the borrowed shirt Castiel wore. There, he pulled back briefly, taking just enough time to slip the shirt up and over Castiel’s head.

Castiel lay back on his elbows, his breathing quickening as Dean returned his attention to the hollow of his throat, laving over his collarbone and down, down toward where his erection clearly tented his pajama pants. He lifted his hips obligingly as Dean eased the pants down, and kicked his feet free of the tangle around his ankles. A shuddering sigh passed over his lips as his skin made contact with the nighttime glaze of dew over the grass, reveling in the coolness against his overheated body. Dean sat back on his heels and watched as Castiel writhed before him.

“Jesus, Cas,” he said, hoarsely. “You’re fucking hot, you know that?”

Judging from the arousal darkening Dean’s eyes, Castiel figured that “hot” was a good thing. What was not a good thing was Dean suddenly so far away, and wearing so many clothes.

“Enough talk,” said Castiel. “Please, Dean.”

Dean chuckled and quickly stripped off his shirt. He leaned forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Castiel’s inner thighs before fastening his lips to the head of Castiel’s cock. Castiel’s head dropped down onto his grassy pillow, and he rested his palms on Dean’s head, his fingers threading through the spiky tufts of hair. If a traditional grace bond wasn’t an option for him, that this was definitely an acceptable substitute.

Dean hollowed his cheeks, taking more of Castiel in. He lifted one of Castiel’s legs and positioned it over his shoulder, but Castiel hardly noticed, so caught up was he in the glorious heat and suction surrounding him. His eyelids fluttered as Dean tongued his slit and swallowed him down again, massaging his balls at the same time. Dean increased the pressure of his mouth, and his hand left Castiel’s balls, fingers creeping farther back. He pulled off briefly.

“You okay, Cas?” he asked.

Castiel managed a quick nod, eyes still closed, and fingers tightening in Dean’s hair. Dean’s mouth returned to his cock, slowly taking Castiel deeper as his fingers continued to drift back. One finger circled the ring of muscle around his entrance, and as the gentle pressure increased, Castiel’s eyes flew open.

He was no longer lying on cool, sweet-smelling grass beneath a blanket of twinkling stars. He was chained to the filthy mattress, and it was Master pressing against him, into him, and it was going to hurt, going to rip him apart from the inside, and he didn’t want this, didn’t want it. But he was trapped, tied down like and animal and he couldn’t move, couldn’t fight…

“Cas! Cas, hey!”

Castiel’s vision cleared to reveal Dean’s worried face above his. Slowly coming back to himself, Castiel registered the feel of the grass beneath his back and the cool night breeze ruffling his hair. He sucked in a welcome breath of air and blinked.

“Thank fuck,” said Dean, leaning back to give Castiel room to sit up.

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel, once he was able to speak. The words came out shaky, and he realized he was trembling.

“Jesus, Cas, you’re not the one who needs to apologize, here. _I’m_ sorry, okay? I got carried away, and I should have known…”

“You asked,” said Castiel. Dean placed a hand on his shoulder, and Castiel leaned into the touch, allowing Dean to pull him forward against his chest in a comforting embrace. “You asked if I was alright. I just didn’t understand what you meant,” Castiel muttered into Dean’s shoulder.

“I should have made sure,” said Dean. “I should’ve…”

They were interrupted by Dean’s phone ringing. Castiel recognized Sam’s ringtone.

“Answer it,” said Castiel, drawing back.

“Sammy can wait, until you’re feeling better,” said Dean.

“I’m fine,” said Castiel. “It’s late for Sam to be calling. It’s probably important.”

He rose to his feet, hoping that Dean wouldn’t notice his shaking legs, and replaced his clothing with a thought. Dean scrambled up as well, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans and swiping his thumb across the screen.

“What’s up?” he said. His eyes widened at Sam’s response.

“Son of a bitch!” growled Dean. “When?”

Castiel moved off to the side, not wanting to listen in on the conversation. He stood next to the honeysuckle bush, breathing in the lovely scent and he continued to struggle to calm himself. He shouldn’t have panicked like that, should have known that Dean would never hurt him like Master and Alastair had done.

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest, curling into himself. It hadn’t hurt, had felt almost… pleasurable, really. Castiel thought back to the previous night and early that morning. The blowjobs had been a revelation; that something so demeaning and repulsive when he was at the mercy of his former owner could produce such feelings of ecstasy and joy with Dean. Would it be the same with… with that?

“Cas?”

Castiel turned to find Dean hovering a few feet behind him, phone in hand. He’d also replaced his shirt.

“Is everything alright with Sam?” asked Castiel. “Adam hasn’t fallen ill again, has he?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” said Dean.

Something was clearly wrong, though. Castiel could see it in the set of Dean’s jaw and the way his hand clenched around his phone. Castiel closed the distance between them and rested his hand on Dean’s forearm.

“What is it, Dean?” he asked.

Dean sighed.

“It’s my Dad,” he said. “He showed up at Sam’s place, demanding that he be let in, that he be allowed to see Adam. He was drunk, and raving about what disgraces of sons we were, and how Adam deserved to have at least one decent role model to look up to.”

“That sentiment is false,” said Castiel. “Adam couldn’t ask for better than to have Sam, Sarah, and you in his life.”

A brief smile flitted across Dean’s features.

“Thanks, Cas,” he said. “Anyway, it turned into an hours long stand-off. Sam finally had to threaten to call the police, which neither him or Dad wanted to happen. Dad, obviously, didn’t want the embarrassment. And Sam knew that if the police were involved, Dad would manage to somehow spin it so that he was in the right.”

“What happened?”

“Dad eventually left. Without the police needing to be involved. But, toward the end, Sam said he started ranting about you. Apparently, he feels that you are the source of every bit of trouble he’s ever had in his life. Sam’s worried he might come here, and that he might try something.”

“I see,” said Castiel.

Dean slipped his phone into his pocket.

“I don’t think you should stay outside, tonight,” he said.

Castiel nodded. A brief moment of concentration, and they were standing in Dean’s bedroom.

“You don’t have to stay in here,” said Dean. “I’ll understand if you want some time after… you know.”

Castiel pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s lips.

“I trust you, Dean,” he said. “And I’d like to stay here. With you.”

Dean ducked his head, looking almost shy. Castiel removed his shirt and sat down on the corner of the bed as Dean went back and forth between the bedroom and the bathroom, performing his nighttime hygiene rituals. The two of them then slipped under the covers.

“You gonna sleep?” asked Dean, throwing an arm over Castiel’s chest and resting his head on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I no longer have a need for sleep. I’ll keep watch,” said Castiel. “I will wake you if anyone approaches the house.”

“Anyone,” scoffed Dean. “Not like I’ll be sleeping much, either, knowing _anyone_ is out there.”

“But you need to rest,” said Castiel. “You resume your employment tomorrow.”

Dean didn’t respond. Castiel thought for a moment, and manifested his wings. He wrapped them around Dean as best he could. Dean moved closer, nuzzling into Castiel’s neck, one hand resting on the bend of the nearest wing. He mumbled something that Castiel didn’t quite catch, and refused to repeat himself when Castiel asked. Slowly, Dean’s breathing evened out and he relaxed into sleep.

Castiel, true to his word, remained ever vigilant, attuned to the slightest sound or movement on the property, and held Dean close the rest of the night.

******

“I think you should come to the station with me,” said Dean, over breakfast the next morning.

Castiel accepted the bowl of cereal Dean passed over to him without comment, having come to the realization that, no matter what the state of his grace was, Dean always felt better when he ate. The cereal didn’t taste like much, though it was fascinating to observe the change in texture brought on by prolonged exposure to the milk Dean added to the bowl.

“Dad didn’t show up last night, which is good,” continued Dean, slurping up the dregs from his own bowl. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t show up during the day, and I’d feel better knowing you were at the station with me, rather than all alone, here.”

“Alright,” agreed Castiel, arranging the remaining floating cornflakes in his bowl in an accurate representation of his favorite constellation.

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“What,” he said. “You’re not going to argue? At all?”

Castiel set his spoon down.

“I do not argue for the sake of arguing,” he said. “You make valid points regarding me accompanying you today. Not to mention that, even if John wasn’t suspected of being in the area, I do need to return to the station eventually, to assist with Mas— with Crowley’s apprehension.”

“Good,” said Dean. “Let’s get going, then.”

******

The police station was a hubbub of activity. Unlike his first visit, most people barely glanced up as Dean led him through the crowded bullpen. Castiel wore the traditional black slave uniform, and the false collar was securely buckled around his neck. He and Dean were being careful not to draw any unwanted attention or to give any indication that they were doing anything other than following Chuck’s rules.

“Morning, Dean. Castiel,” said Benny, rising from his desk, cup of coffee in hand. “Good have you back, Dean.”

Benny and Dean embraced, slapping each other’s backs in the way Castiel had often observed of male humans.

“It’s good to be back, man,” said Dean, pulling away. “Pretty sure there’s a backlog of work stacked up to the ceiling waiting in my office, though.”

“Near enough,” said Benny. “You gonna keep Castiel with you, today?”

Dean shrugged.

“Up to him,” he said.

“I’d like to assist with Crowley’s case,” said Castiel to Benny. “If you’ll have me.”

“It’d be a big help,” said Benny. “I have some things for you to look at over here. Victor’s off today,” he said to Dean, upon noticing Dean’s not so subtle appraisal of the room.

The morning passed quickly. Benny seemed grateful for Castiel’s help, and Castiel found it much easier to concentrate without worrying about Victor. People seemed to find excuses to walk past, or stop at Benny’s desk to chat more frequently than usual, going by Benny’s reaction, but none of them spoke to Castiel beyond a causal greeting, which Castiel felt fairly comfortable returning. Only the sly, calculating look in the Captain’s secretary, Lilith’s, cold blue eyes gave him pause, but Benny quickly hurried her on her way. After a moment, Castiel forgot about the encounter as he returned to the task at hand.

Castiel even worked straight through lunch, assuring Benny that he would be absolutely fine while the detective took his allotted hour’s break. Benny, unlike Dean, didn’t seem to care one way or the other whether Castiel ate.

Dean appeared at Benny’s desk sometime around mid-afternoon, in the middle of Castiel describing what he remembered of the associates that Crowley would occasionally bring in to observe Castiel in his cage; the uncontrollable rebel angel that only Crowley could manage.

“Sorry, Benny,” said Dean. “But I kinda need to borrow Cas.”

“Sure thing, brother,” said Benny. “He’s been a big help today. Thank you, Castiel.”

“It was my pleasure,” said Castiel.

He followed Dean out of the station, to the Impala. As Castiel slid into the passenger seat, Dean rested his forehead against the steering wheel and groaned.

“Dean?”

Dean lifted his head and opened his jacket, checking that his angel blade was secure in its holster. Castiel drew in a sharp breath at the sight.

“Got a call about an abused angel,” he said. “She’s been trapped in a ring of holy fire for who knows how long, and it looks like she’s hurt pretty bad. The people who called it in said she’s insane, ranting and raving and threatening anyone who gets too close. I figured maybe… maybe you’ll be able to get through to her. To see if her mind is completely gone. If so…” Dean trailed off, and Castiel’s eyes were drawn once more to the blade.

“Yes… of course,” he managed.

******

“Let me out!” screamed the dark-haired angel. The dancing flames of the holy fire produced an otherworldly pattern of shadows across her face, making her look even more terrifying.

“Just calm down,” said Dean, holding his hands out in front of him in order to appear less threatening. “My name is Dean Winchester, and I’m here to help you.”

“I’ll feast on your flesh!” she screeched. “I’ll rejoice when your neck snaps beneath my fingers!”

“Hannah,” whispered Castiel, from his position just behind Dean. He hadn’t recognized her at first, her battered face, tangle of hair, and sick, weakened grace rendering her almost a stranger.

“You know her?” asked Dean, not taking his eyes away from Hannah as she made a series of lightning fast dashes and feints at the wall of fire in front of her, as though trying to build up the courage to throw herself onto the flames.

“We were born at the same facility,” said Castiel. “We were close. Hannah, Gabriel, and I.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dean.

Castiel didn’t respond. He could barely stand to look upon the shattered shell of his sister. Humans had done this to her. Humans had taken a kind, beautiful, hard working angel and completely destroyed her, body and mind. He stepped in front of Dean.

“Hannah!” he called.

“Traitor!” she cried. “Filth! He brings you here to do his dirty work for him! And you obey, like a good little bitch. Because you think it’ll save you. Well, look at me! I was an obedient little bitch, once, too. Look at me now! This is your future, angel! This is what awaits you after years of loyal service!”

Hannah yanked at her hair and clawed at her already mangled neck, fingers hooking beneath her collar. She pulled and tugged, clearly trying to remove it.

“Tell her to stop,” said Dean, urgently. “She’ll kill herself if she keeps trying rip it off.”

“Hannah, please. We’re here to help you. No harm will come to you.”

Hannah gave a maniacal laugh, raising her eyes toward the sky, still grasping her collar with both hands.

“I think she might be too far gone, Cas,” said Dean.

Castiel knew he wouldn’t make such pronouncements lightly, knew that Dean was only doing the best he could within the constraints of the law. It didn’t stop the anger from rising up within him. Who was this human to make such a declaration about an angel who had been very nearly destroyed by the species?

“Stay here,” snapped Castiel, and moved closer to the flames. Dean would refuse to douse the fire until he was sure Hannah wasn’t a threat, Castiel knew. He also knew there was no chance of reasoning with Hannah with the flames continuously singeing her grace in addition to everything else she’d endured. Castiel could put out the fire. He had enough power to do so, but only just. Afterwards, he’d be drained, perhaps even unable to protect Dean and Hannah from each other.

“Sister,” he said, softly, pleading.

Hannah looked at him. She looked straight at him, and for an instant Castiel saw recognition in her eyes. Her hands fell away from her collar, and Castiel saw her lips form around his name. He nodded, and then the moment was gone. Hannah’s eyes glazed over, and she looked into the flames. Castiel realized what was about to happen an instant before it did. He knew Hannah wasn’t going to stop herself this time as she started to move toward the fire. He heard Dean cry out from behind him.

“No!”

Castiel didn’t spare him a glance. He raised a hand, and the ring of fire disappeared an instant before Hannah would have made contact. He caught her as she came barreling through, only able to restrain her because her damaged grace was even weaker than his. Still she fought him, her eyes fixed on Dean as she spat out death threats in Enochian.

Castiel pressed two fingers to her forehead, summoning one more pulse of grace.

“Rest, sister,” he said, as she slumped in his arms. He went down to his knees, too weak to hold up their combined weight. Still, he managed to protect her on the way down, and adjusted his hold on her so that she rested comfortably against his chest.

“Cas!” called Dean, running toward them.

“Stay away from her!” snarled Castiel, the hostility in his voice surprising even him.

Dean stopped short.

“Okay,” he said. “I won’t come any closer. Are you hurt, though?”

Castiel took a deep breath.

“No,” he said. “I’m fine. I just need a moment.”

“And, the angel? Hannah, did you call her?”

“She’s asleep,” said Castiel. “I… I don’t know, yet, how she will recover.”

Dean nodded.

“I’m just going to bring the Impala over,” he said. “I’ll be right back. You okay with that?”

Castiel waved him away, still focusing most of his attention on Hannah. Her chest rose and fell shallowly, as though she still felt pain through her unconsciousness. None of her wounds appeared to have been made by angelic weapons, and though her grace was a tattered mess, it didn’t seem to be broken beyond repair.

The crunch of gravel beneath the Impala’s tires alerted Castiel to Dean’s return. He’d regained some strength in the few minutes of rest he had; enough to rise to his feet, Hannah cradled in his arms, and settle the two of them into the back seat of the car.

“Don’t touch her,” said Castiel, as Dean reached out a hand to assist.

“Just trying to help,” said Dean.

“You can’t,” said Castiel.

He watched as Dean gave a jerky nod and got into the driver’s seat. The rumble of the Impala’s engine provided a distraction from the tense silence within the car. Castiel kept his arms wrapped firmly around Hannah, bending over to murmur soothingly in Enochian whenever she started to fret.

He and Dean didn’t speak to each other at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, the previous chapter, and the next chapter were originally going to all be part of the same chapter from Castiel's point of view. So, the next chapter will also be from Castiel's point of view, and then we'll get back to Dean's. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and commenting :)


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Chapter! As always, feedback is appreciated. And for those of you who were concerned about Hannah... either about what would happen to her or how she would affect Dean and Castiel's relationship... hopefully this chapter will answer those questions :)

“We can take her inside,” said Dean, guiding the Impala up the driveway. “There’s a spare room next to yours.”

“No,” said Castiel. Hannah trembled lightly in his arms. “We’ll go to the dormitory.”

“The dorms?” Dean shifted the car into park and twisted around to look at Castiel. “That’s not necessary, Cas. There’s plenty of room up at the house.”

“It’s not about space,” said Castiel, curtly. “It’s about avoiding humans.”

“Well, yeah, but my house isn’t exactly party central. There won’t be anyone around.”

“ _You_ are a human, Dean.”

Castiel saw the hurt flash in Dean’s eyes, but ignored it. He knew Dean’s intentions were good, but he couldn’t forget that his sister lay half dead in his lap, a victim of human cruelty. And Dean would most likely have killed her, had Castiel not been there to intervene.

Castiel drew a deep, steadying breath and pushed the car door open with his foot. Dean got out of the driver’s side, but made no move to follow or help, for which Castiel was grateful. Castiel carefully adjusted Hannah in his arms and set off for the nondescript, whitewashed structure situated just behind the main house. The building he used to call home.

The dormitory looked different than it had when Castiel lived there. There were beds, with real mattresses, in place of the thin mats John had required his angels to lie upon while meditating. One of the large rooms had been converted into a sort of common area, with comfy chairs and sofas arranged around a television set. Books filled the shelves lining the walls, and even with the quick glance Castiel took as he passed, he could see that many were in Enochian. His throat tightened as he thought of the effort Dean must have gone through to make the place seem less the prison it had been in his youth, and more of a haven.

He chose for Hannah a room with large, east-facing windows. Hannah had always loved the morning sun, Castiel remembered, as he gently deposited her on the bed closest to the windows. He watched her for a moment and, satisfied that she rested comfortably and would not awaken in the immediate future, left the room to search for supplies.

One of the bedrooms had been converted into a bathing room, of sorts. Castiel puzzled over the development as he pushed the door open and his eyes fell upon the large tub and separate shower stalls. Angels didn’t need to bathe, as a rule, not unless their graces were nearly depleted, as Castiel’s had been after his liberation from Crowley. Such an occurrence was a rarity. Castiel doubted that even Hannah’s grace, damaged though it was, had reached such a state. Still, the room proved to be useful as Castiel managed to find a clean set of slave garments, extra blankets, and a few clean towels in the cabinets.

Another room had been repurposed into a kitchenette, complete with a round table and chairs, microwave, sink, and stove. A refrigerator stood off to one side, and Castiel opened the door out of curiosity. Aside from an open box of baking soda, it was empty. Did Dean stock the place with food when angels were in residence? The idea baffled him as much as the existence of the bathroom did.

Remembering how refreshing and soothing the feel of water had been on his parched throat during his recovery, Castiel filled a glass with water in addition to the basin he discovered beneath the sink. On his way back to Hannah’s room, he paused in front of the bookshelves to select a few volumes that seemed as though they would be of interest to her.

An Enochian sigil carved into the back of one of the shelves caught Castiel’s attention, and he leaned forward to investigate. It was Gabriel’s name. Castiel set down the supplies he carried. The row of books on that shelf seemed to take up more space than those on the surrounding shelves, though there seemed to be no difference in the size of the tomes themselves. Somehow, the back of the unit had been altered.

Castiel lightly pressed his hand to one corner of the carved panel, and was unsurprised to feel it give. He removed the piece of wood and gave a startled laugh as he peered inside. It was a cache of the magazines Dean had noticed missing after Gabriel’s departure, all of them seemingly geared toward human sexual pleasure. Castiel rolled his eyes and tucked the stack beneath his arm as he reclaimed items he’d temporarily stored on the floor and continued back to Hannah.

He swiftly and efficiently removed her torn and soiled uniform and took stock of her injuries, both those of her physical self and of her grace. Nothing seemed too serious, and Castiel let out a relieved breath. Hannah would heal. Physically, at least. He reached out a hand and placed two fingers on her forehead, concentrating on healing what he could. Most of the wounds on Hannah’s vessel faded. Castiel was somewhat hampered by the collar she wore, and after cleaning the remaining wounds and redressing her in the clothes he’d discovered in the bathroom, he turned his attention to the strip of leather around her neck.

It was a moderately powered collar, perhaps a little stronger than most angels wore. It would allow Hannah’s grace to heal, albeit at a slower rate than it would if she were completely unbound. It was adorned with the standard containment and security sigils that made it impossible for an angel to remove.

Delicate tremors continued to wrack Hannah’s slight frame. Castiel reached for the extra blankets and draped several over Hannah, tucking the ends securely beneath her shoulders and feet. He placed a hand on Hannah’s forehead, as a human would do to check for fever. Castiel wasn’t concerned with Hannah’s body temperature. It was her grace that worried him, and he frowned as he felt it quaking inside of her, emanating equal parts terror, rage, and despair.

He sat back on the bed next to Hannah’s, allowing his hand to fall from her forehead. For as long as Castiel could remember, he’d been torn between his fascination with and affection for humans, and his fear and acrimony toward them. He’d never allowed himself to descend to Gabriel’s levels of contempt and loathing, not even during his worst days when his grace had burned with white-hot agony within him, and his physical body had ached from the abuse of his captors.

But the sight of Hannah, beaten and broken, awakened what years of torture inflicted upon him couldn’t. The fury that had been building in him since he’d first seen Hannah behind that wall of flames rose to a head, and with a strangled cry Castiel rose from the bed and knocked the ceramic basin of water to the floor, not caring that it shattered, that water splashed everywhere, soaking the remaining towels and the magazines Castiel had set on the floor next to the bedpost.

His gaze fell on the drip-splattered cover of the magazine on top of the stack. It featured two humans twined together in the throes of passion, and Castiel’s anger only intensified at the sight. Humans thought of nothing but their own pleasure. They _took_ , and it didn’t matter what the cost, what the consequence was to anyone else.

Before Castiel quite knew what was happening, he grabbed that first magazine and tore it to pieces, and then the next, and the next, until all that was left of the pile was confetti plastered to the wet floorboards at his feet. He dropped back down onto the bed, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Humans were selfish, thoughtless creatures. They sought to control, to wield power in a way that was completely alien to Castiel, even after a lifetime of experiencing it.

And yet. There were many of them who tried to do good. Who tried to overcome their natures. Castiel thought of Sam. Of Julie. Of the thin man with the kind eyes, Garth, who had helped Dean to get Castiel through those terrible first days after his rescue. Of Dean, the human Castiel’s own grace was drawn to with a force that frightened him as much as it thrilled him.

Castiel’s fingers gripped the ends of his hair as he curled forward, overwhelmed by the battle waging inside his head.

“Brother?”

Castiel’s head snapped up at the sound of Hannah’s voice.

“Hannah,” he croaked, moving off of the bed to stand at Hannah’s side.

Hannah’s eyes darted frantically around the room, lighting briefly on the night darkened windows, the closed door, and the ornately carved protection sigil on the wall, before fixing on Castiel’s.

“Where?” she whispered. “How?”

Castiel sat down next to her and fished her hand out from beneath the covers, wrapping his fingers securely around hers.

“You are safe here, sister,” he said. “Do not fear.”

“There was holy fire,” said Hannah. “And a human. I remember… I remember threatening to… trying to… why have I not been executed, Castiel?” She struggled to pull herself into a sitting position, and Castiel arranged the pillows behind her and helped her to settle back against them.

“Dean is a good man. He only wishes to help,” Castiel assured her, realizing, as the words left his mouth that he believed them with all of his being. That, while humans were certainly capable of great cruelty, they were also capable of compassion, as evidenced by the completely remodeled building in which they resided. Castiel couldn’t fathom how much time and money it had taken Dean to accomplish, and all for what? Housing two or three angels each year?

Hannah peered at him with disbelief, her gaze slowly moving from his face. Her eyes widened as they took in his collar.

“He compels you to say such things,” she gasped, and tried slide across the bed, to put some distance between them. “This is my punishment, isn’t it? To believe that nothing will happen, and then to be tortured and killed? And you… they brought you in to make it that much worse.”

“No,” said Castiel, but Hannah seemed beyond comprehension as she yanked her hand free of his and threw herself off of the bed. Too weak to stand, she collapsed in a heap. Castiel rounded the bedstead and crouched in front of her.

“Leave me,” pleaded Hannah. “It’s worse with you here. Let them do what they will to me, but don’t make me have to endure you helping them.”

“It’s not like that,” said Castiel. Hannah backed away from him, cornering herself between two walls.

“Hannah, please.” Castiel slowly raised a hand to his false collar, waiting until Hannah made eye contact before he unfastened the clasp and the collar fell away from his neck. Hannah gave another startled gasp and squeezed her eyes shut, no doubt expecting him to drop dead on the spot. When he didn’t, she slowly extended a shaking hand to brush against the skin where the collar had lain.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Dean is a good man,” Castiel said again, and lightly grasped Hannah beneath her elbows, gently drawing her to her feet. He helped her back into the bed. She continued to stare at the bare skin of his neck in shock.

“It’s not possible,” she said, at last. “This must be some sort of trick.”

Castiel settled himself at the foot of her bed once again.

“Hear me, sister. I speak the truth,” he said, quietly. “I am not under the command of any Master.”

“So you… you choose to work with this human?”

“Yes,” said Castiel. “I’ve done things… terrible things… and he was able to see past that, to help me find purpose. He understands that you were under duress, and didn’t have control of yourself at that moment. He wishes you no harm.”

Hannah was silent for some time. She didn’t protest as Castiel took her hand again, gripping onto him tightly.

“What will happen to me?” she asked, finally. “If not torture and execution, then what?”

“I do not know,” said Castiel, honestly. “But I know that you are safe, here. No one will hurt you again. That, I can promise.”

******

Hours later, Castiel returned to the house, carrying the newly repaired magazines with him. Dean sat at the kitchen table nursing a beer, his suit jacket draped across one of the empty stools and his tie loosened.

“The hell?” he said, as Castiel deposited the stolen porn in front of him.

“I found Gabriel’s hiding spot,” said Castiel, sitting down on the stool next to Dean’s.

“That sneaky son of a bitch,” said Dean, taking a swig from his bottle. “How’s Hannah?”

“Lucid,” said Castiel, sighing and running a hand through his hair. “She regrets threatening to eviscerate you.”

Dean brushed the apology aside and set his beer down on the table before hooking his feet around the bottom rungs of the stool and leaning back against the wall.

“How does she seem otherwise?” he asked.

“She would heal faster and be more comfortable if her collar was removed,” said Castiel.

“We can do that,” said Dean, without hesitation, and Castiel was surprised to feel those all too human tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“Hey,” said Dean, starting to sit up.

Castiel stood and walked over to him, fitting himself into the vee of Dean’s knees and taking Dean’s hands in his own.

“Thank you,” said Castiel. He wanted to say more, to ask for forgiveness for being short with Dean earlier, for treating him as a foe instead of an ally; but his throat seemed to have closed up and he could only stand there, clasping Dean’s hands and drawing deep breaths.

“So, I take it you’re not still mad at me,” said Dean, his tone light, but Castiel could see the apprehension in his eyes.

“I never was,” mumbled Castiel, and would have sagged against him if Dean hadn’t tugged Castiel forward until he sat down, his legs straddling Dean’s hips. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” said Dean. “Not for wanting to save your sister from… from me.”

Castiel blew out a shaky breath and rested his forehead against Dean’s, allowing his eyes to fall closed. Dean let go of his hands and looped his arms around Castiel’s waist.

“You wanna talk?” he asked.

Castiel shook his head, eyes still closed, but started to speak all the same.

“Hannah was placed in that ring of holy fire by her owner after a month of daily beatings. She was purchased as a plaything for the owner’s husband. The woman was convinced that having an angel around would curtail her husband’s tendency toward infidelity. It worked for a few years, until he lost interest. The wife blamed Hannah.”

“Shit,” said Dean. “I hate that there’s not more I can do to make people like that pay.”

“You saved Hannah’s life,” said Castiel. “That’s the most important thing.”

“Speaking of that,” said Dean.

Castiel opened his eyes and sat up a little straighter, not quite certain of what to make of Dean’s tone.

“I talked to Sam. While you were out there with Hannah. I called him and gave him the low down. What I knew of it, anyway. He said that if it turns out Hannah is able to regain some self-control, which it sounds like she has, there’s an opening in a Free Angel Colony in the Ozarks. Pretty remote location, almost zero percent chance of encountering humans.”

For a moment Castiel could only stare at Dean, marveling at this example of human compassion and kindness in direct contrast to the extreme cruelty with which Hannah had been treated.

“Cas?” said Dean, looking a little worried. “You okay? Did I say something wrong?”

“Nothing you said was wrong,” said Castiel. “Hannah and I are both grateful for your extraordinary kindness.”

“Nothing extraordinary about it. Hannah deserves a chance at some happiness. This seems like the best option for her.”

“It sounds ideal,” agreed Castiel, still almost not quite able to believe it. “I believe Hannah would do well in a situation like that. She is too distrustful of humans to be able to live amongst them again, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, I figured,” said Dean. “You can go tell her, if you want.”

Castiel leaned down, capturing Dean’s lips with his own.

“Later,” he said, when they broke apart to allow Dean to draw breath. “She’s resting. I thought I’d stay with her tonight.”

“Seems fair,” said Dean. “If I get you for a little bit right now.”

Castiel smiled, lips parting to receive Dean’s kiss. He smoothed his hands up the silky fabric of Dean’s shirt until he reached the tie, loosening it further. Castiel leaned back, breaking off the kiss, and pulled the tie up over Dean’s head, just as Dean grasped the hem of Castiel’s tunic and did the same. Castiel brought his fingers to Dean’s throat next, working at the buttons of his shirt in between kissing his way over Dean’s jaw and down, licking at the skin newly exposed when Castiel pushed the shirt off of Dean’s shoulders. He felt Dean’s breath, hot against the nape of his neck, and the tips of Dean’s fingers tracing up the line of his spine.

Castiel shuddered when Dean’s calloused fingers reached his shoulder blades, his wings manifesting in a whoosh of air. Dean buried his hands in Castiel’s feathers, and Castiel couldn’t help moaning, tipping his head back between his shoulders and rolling his hips forward, the erection that tented his pants bumping against Dean’s stomach.

Dean continued to run his hands over Castiel’s feathers and leaned forward to lave at the exposed column of Castiel’s throat. The thin material of Dean’s slacks did little to conceal his hardening cock, and he began to grind against Castiel, matching each roll of his hips. Castiel felt the slide of Dean’s cock, buffered only by the barest hint of fabric, between his buttocks.

There was a brief moment of panic, where his hands involuntarily clenched Dean’s shoulders, but the slow, rhythmic strokes of his feathers and the small jolts of pleasure he felt as he and Dean moved together helped him to relax. Dean didn’t push him any farther, but Castiel found himself rocking back a litter harder onto Dean, seeking more. And suddenly, the prospect of more wasn’t so scary anymore. Because it was Dean.

“What the hell is this?” thundered a deep, furious voice from the doorway.

Dean was instantly on his feet, and Castiel felt himself falling back, too fast to do anything about it; landing on the floor with his wing bending beneath him at an awkward, painful angle. He grunted in discomfort, distracted for a moment by the throbbing ache. Castiel rolled into a half crouch and raised his head. John Winchester stood in the doorway, his eyes locked on Castiel’s wings with an expression of enraged fascination.

Castiel’s face grew hot with shame, and he shifted his wings out of sight.

“Please,” said John, mocking. “Don’t stow them away on my account.”

Castiel dropped his gaze to the ground, the instinct to submit, to obey, in John’s presence still strong within him even after two decades. John may never have been able to elicit one hundred percent obedience from him, but some things stuck.

“Leave him alone, Dad,” said Dean, tugging his shirt back into place. “What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“What, a man can’t drop by to see his son when he’s in town?” said John. “Can’t sit down and have a conversation about how that son is dragging the family name through the mud?”

John strode across the kitchen, his boots thumping on the floor, his knee connecting hard with Castiel’s shoulder as he passed. Dean started to move forward as Castiel struggled to regain his balance, but checked himself, avoiding Castiel’s gaze. Castiel didn’t hold it against him. For all Dean had managed to accomplish over the years, he’d never had to directly confront John. Castiel could see there was still a part of him, at his very core, that feared John’s disapproval.

John sat down on the stool where Dean’s jacket was draped, after casting a disgusted glance at the stool Dean and Castiel had occupied.

“Can’t be too careful in this house, I see. Angel, get up and get me some coffee.”

“No,” growled Dean, fists clenching at his sides.

Castiel froze, halfway to rising. He’d come back to himself, a little, after the initial shock of seeing John, and he yearned to stand up, tall and proud, and tell John exactly what he could do with his coffee. But, there was Hannah to think of, and Castiel wasn’t so obstinate as to be unaware that the safest and easiest option was that of compliance.

John glared at his son.

“You are a disgrace,” he said. “I’m glad I told your mother not to come along on this trip. It would destroy her to see you like this; you realize that, don’t you?”

Dean didn’t respond, but Castiel caught the muscle twitch in his jaw and the subtle slump of his shoulders at the thought of Mary’s displeasure. John reached for Dean’s half finished beer and drank deeply from the bottle.

“It was bad enough, this angel welfare nonsense, but this, Dean. You just threw away your career, not to mention your reputation, for some angel you had a crush on twenty years ago. It wouldn’t be so bad if you just wanted to use him. Hell, if your mother hadn’t been so dead set against it, I would have had me an angel or two on the side, myself. But this is more, isn’t it?”

John inclined his head and stared hard at Dean.

“You actually have feelings for this filth, this abomination. You always have. I saw the signs, way back then. I thought I could nip it in the bud by showing you how to train, by having you take part in punishments and the designing of collars. None of that worked, though, and in the end I had to get rid of the damn angel, sell his ass off to some whack job who wound up damaging my legacy almost as you!”

John pushed himself to his feet as he shouted that last word, and hurled the empty beer bottle at Dean’s head. Dean ducked, and the bottle exploded against the wall behind him. No one moved for a moment; then, without warning, John launched himself at Dean. Lighting fast, Castiel drew himself to his full height and gathered his grace. John stopped short just inches from Dean, straining against the invisible force that held him.

“You!” he snarled, his eyes landing on Castiel. “How _dare_ you! Let me loose right now!”

“No,” said Castiel.

John stopped struggling, and his voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble.

“I don’t like to repeat myself, angel, as you well know. Let me go. That’s an order.”

“I do not take orders,” said Castiel. “And I cannot allow you to hurt Dean.”

John whipped his head around to face Dean, who stared at Castiel, a mixture of awe and shame in his eyes.

“This is the type of behavior you encourage from your slaves?” said John.

“He’s not my slave,” said Dean, seeming to shake himself free of his daze.

“He has some kind of hold on you,” said John, glaring daggers at Castiel. “He’s controlling you. That’s what happens when you give them too much freedom. When you don’t keep them in their place.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Dean, eyes flashing. He squared his shoulders and took a step toward John. “And you know it. Now, if I’m such a disappointment to you, such a disgrace, why are you even here? Why don’t you just get the hell off of my property, and let me live my fucking life.”

“ _Your_ property?”

“Yes, mine. You want me to show you the damn deed that we both signed? We both know this place has been mine for the better part ten years. I live here, in this house, with Cas. As equals. And if any other angels come around, they’ll also be treated as equals. Because you what’s fucking disgraceful? Treating them as anything less than that when they are superior to us in so many ways!”

“That’s really the way you feel?” said John, calm now.

Dean set his jaw.

“Yes.”

“Then fine. You made your bed, then go ahead and lie in it. We’ll see how long you have the respect of this community, of your little police force, once they find out about your… alternative… lifestyle.”

“They won’t find out,” said Dean, equally calm. “Because if they do, I’ll make sure they also find out a thing or two about you. Think about that.”

John’s face became so red that Castiel feared for his health. John and Dean continued to face off, John still immobile from the neck down, until John gave a jerky nod.

“Fine,” he said. “I don’t want to see your face ever again. You’re no longer my son. Tell your boyfriend to lift whatever the hell mojo he laid on me so I can get out of here.”

Castiel walked over to John, ignoring whatever Dean was trying to signal to him. John tried to shrink away from him, but was hampered by the spell, and the rush of satisfaction Castiel felt at the sight was heady. Castiel dropped a hand onto John’s shoulder, and with a thought, John was transported to his car. Castiel and Dean stood together on the porch and watched as he drove away, his truck kicking up and impressive cloud of dust.

“You okay?” asked Dean, once the dust had settled and they could no longer see or hear the sound of John’s vehicle.

“I’m fine,” said Castiel. “You?”

“Fine,” said Dean, but he refused to make eye contact. “You should go check on Hannah.”

“Dean, are—“

“I’m fine, Cas. Go check on Hannah. She probably heard at least some of that, and I wouldn’t want it to set her back.”

Dean turned and re-entered the house, allowing the screen door to slam shut behind him.

******

“Castiel!”

Hannah leapt up from the armchair she’d been curled up in with a blanket as soon as Castiel stepped into the common area.

“Everything’s fine,” said Castiel, easing her back down into the chair and smoothing back the hair that had fallen into her face. Dean was right; she’d been in panic.

“But I heard fighting.”

“Dean’s father disapproves of his helping angels. There was an argument, but everything is fine, now. There’s nothing to fear.”

Castiel crouched at Hannah’s feet, rubbing soothing circles onto the back of her hand with his thumb as Dean had done for him a few times, until her trembling ceased and her breathing eased.

“I have news,” he said, sitting back on his heels. “Were you aware that there exist settlements consisting solely of angels?”

“No,” said Hannah, in wonder. “How is such a thing possible?”

“Through humans like Dean, and his brother, Sam, and Sam’s wife, Sarah,” said Castiel. “Their mission is to help as many angels as possible have better lives. In some instances, that involves securing new placements for them. In others, it involves attempting to alter current laws. And, occasionally, it involves removing certain angels from human society altogether. That is what Dean and Sam wish to do for you. There’s a place in the mountains, where you would live, unbound, without ever having to see another human for the rest of your existence. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

“Yes,” said Hannah, wide-eyed. “Yes, very much so.”

They spent the next several hours speculating about what it would be like, living amongst angels without the intrusion of humans.

“This Dean is unlike any human I’ve ever encountered,” said Hannah. “It’s strange how much effort he puts in to assisting angels, even when it’s not in his best interest. I would doubt his existence if I hadn’t already witnessed it myself.”

“I’ve discovered there are more humans who are willing to help angels than I would have thought,” said Castiel. “But, you’re right in saying that Dean is special.”

Hannah looked up from the book about the Ozarks she’d been flipping through, a thoughtful expression crossing her features as she contemplated Castiel.

“You’ve bonded,” she said, slowly.

Before Castiel could respond, she continued,

“No. No, of course you haven’t. But… your grace. It wants to bond to Dean.”

Castiel stared down at his hands in his lap.

“Oh, Castiel,” said Hannah, and slid off of the chair to join him on the floor. “How could you allow this to happen?”

“It was always so,” said Castiel with a shrug. “From the moment I first saw him, twenty-seven years ago, though I didn’t realize it at the time, didn’t realize it until recently.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at Hannah. “Do I… are you repulsed by me?”

Hannah was silent for so long that Castiel finally forced himself to raise his head and meet her gaze. She looked troubled, but not sickened.

“I don’t understand it,” she said. “Knowing what humans are capable of, what our brothers and sisters, what we ourselves, have suffered at their hands… it doesn’t make sense to me that you could…”

“It’s Dean,” said Castiel, unable to better articulate what he, himself, had difficulty comprehending.

Hannah laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be. With Dean I’m… I’m happy,” said Castiel, the word strange and unfamiliar on his tongue. “And I believe he is, as well.”

“He’s agreed to complete the bond?”

“No.” Castiel spoke so sharply that Hannah snatched her hand away from his shoulder, as though she’d been burned.

“No,” said Castiel, again, softening his tone. “I would never put him through that. As far as he knows, it’s an impossibility.”

Hannah’s eyes grew large.

“You can’t live like that,” she said. “Your grace can’t sustain itself for long in such a state of longing. It will wither and fade. You must be feeling the effects already.”

“I’m managing it,” said Castiel. “There have been a few times that I’ve been caught off guard, but now that I’m aware of what’s happening, I’m certain I can regain control.”

“There’s no subduing your grace once it’s chosen your mate,” said Hannah. “You are going to kill yourself trying.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” said Castiel. “And, at any rate, it’s worth the risk. Dean is worth the risk.”

Castiel’s eyes flicked toward the main house, as they’d started to more and more over the last hour. He didn’t trust Dean’s assertion that he was fine after what happened with John, and his worry only increased as more time passed. Hannah noticed the direction of his gaze.

“You should go to him,” she said.

Castiel hesitated. It didn’t feel right leaving Hannah, either.

Hannah smiled, sensing his feelings as easily as she had during their youth.

“Go to your human,” she said. “I’m already much stronger, and I have all of these books to occupy my mind. I will be quite content, here.”

“If you’re sure,” said Castiel.

Hannah nodded.

“Thank you,” he said.

******

Castiel returned to the house to find the kitchen dark and empty. The table was awash in a sea of empty beer bottles, in the midst of which lay a single piece of scrap paper. Castiel picked it up, his grace enabling him to read it easily without the aid of a light. He could tell it wasn’t meant for him; the scribbles were just notes that Dean had quickly jotted down while, Castiel assumed, he’d been talking to Sam.

The next day’s date had been written down, followed by _10:00 am_ and the words _false collar for Hannah_ and _transport ASAP._ Then, well below that cluster of writing was Castiel’s name, with a question mark after it.

A crash sounded from the living room, and Castiel dropped the paper, startled. He rushed toward the sound, and found Dean half sitting between the couch and the coffee table, a mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniels clutched in one hand.

“Cash?” he slurred, blinking owlishly. “Why’re you here? S’posed to be w’ Hannah.”

“I felt like I needed to check on you,” said Castiel, plucking the bottle from Dean’s hand and setting it aside. “Clearly, I was right.” He reached down to help Dean up, but Dean batted his hand away.

“I’m fine,” said Dean. “Just had a couple drinks, is all. Needed it after tonight.”

Dean braced both hands on the coffee table and managed to rise to his knees. There, he seemed stuck, unable to get his feet beneath him. He didn’t protest when Castiel reached out to him again.

“I migh’ be a teensy bit drunk,” he said, swaying in place after Castiel pulled him to his feet.

“Let me,” said Castiel, moving two fingers toward Dean’s forehead.

“No!” cried Dean, nearly falling as he pushed Castiel away. “No, Cas, I can’t… I can’t handle being sober right now. I just can’t.”

“Alright,” said Castiel, lowering his hand. “If you’re sure.”

“You are a gentleman and a scholar,” said Dean, struggling to focus on Castiel’s face with glassy eyes. “And pretty, too.”

“You should go to bed, at the very least, since you are refusing to allow me to intervene,” said Castiel, locking a steadying arm around Dean’s waist as he listed a little too far to one side.

“Bed. Yes.” Dean nodded gravely. “Good idea.”

They began to move slowly in the direction of the staircase, Dean clumsy and uncoordinated. The stairs loomed ahead of them like an insurmountable obstacle. Castiel was sure that, if Dean objected to him removing the alcohol from his system, he would most definitely object to being flown upstairs, so Castiel didn’t even offer. Instead, they ascended the stairs at a snail’s pace, Castiel supporting Dean as he tripped over his own feet ever other step.

“Almost there,” said Castiel, with three steps left.

Dean’s face was pinched in concentration, and he didn’t reply. When they reached the top of the stairs, he suddenly lurched to the right.

“Bathroom,” he muttered. “Need the—“

He pressed a fist to his mouth and gagged. Castiel urged him forward, and they just made it over the bathroom’s threshold before Dean heaved the contents of his stomach all over himself, the floor, and Castiel.

“Sorry, man,” mumbled Dean. He pushed away from Castiel and staggered over to the toilet, dropping to his knees and vomiting again. Castiel waited for him to finish, then helped him to sit back against the bathtub. Dean smacked his hand away as he raised two fingers.

“I said no, Cas.”

“Just to clean you up,” said Castiel. “You’re a mess.”

“No. Jus’… go back to Hannah, or something.”

“I’m not leaving you like this,” said Castiel, settling down beside Dean.

Dean snorted.

“Why not? I did the same to you, back there.”

Castiel had no idea what he meant.

“What are you talking about, Dean?”

Dean shook his head and struggled to his feet with a groan. Castiel rose with him, steadying him with a hand to his shoulder.

“Have you finished vomiting?” he asked.

“Think so,” said Dean.

Castiel flushed the toilet, closed the lid, and sat Dean down on top of it.

“Will you at least let me help you clean yourself?” he asked, and indicated Dean’s sodden pants and shirt. “That can’t be comfortable.”

Dean nodded without making eye contact, and Castiel turned away, adjusting the shower curtain and turning the water on, setting the temperature to what he knew Dean preferred. Steam poured out from behind the curtain, and Castiel started briskly started unbuttoning Dean’s shirt. He slid it off of Dean’s shoulders, and held Dean upright when he wavered trying to shake his arms free of the sleeves.

“Can you stand for a moment?”

Dean started to push himself up, and Castiel helped him the rest of the way, instructing him to brace himself against the counter while Castiel knelt and unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly, allowing the black slacks to pool around Dean’s ankles. He hooked his fingers under the elastic of Dean’s boxers next, easing them down, and helped Dean step away from the pile of clothing at his feet.

Castiel steered Dean over to the sink, handed him his toothbrush, and left him propped up by the cupboard for the few minutes it took for Castiel to set the rest of the bathroom to rights. He quickly stripped off his dirty clothes, bundled them along with Dean’s, tossed them into the washing machine, and mopped up the fetid puddle on the floor. He did everything manually, not sure how far Dean’s desire for him not to use his powers extended.

He finished just as Dean set the bottle of mouthwash aside.

“Are you ready for the shower?” he asked.

Dean nodded, and together they moved to the tub, Castiel trying not to be too concerned with Dean’s sudden passivity, telling himself it was just a side effect of all of the alcohol in Dean’s system. Not trusting Dean to be able to remain upright on the slippery ceramic surface without assistance, Castiel got in with him, positioning Dean beneath the spray. Dean sighed and closed his eyes at the feel of the hot water on his skin. Castiel grabbed the soap and got to work, taking care to always keep one steadying hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean cracked his eyes open and watched Castiel’s ministrations.

“Did this for you, once,” he mumbled, and though Castiel had only the vaguest recollection of the event, he replied,

“Yes, I remember. You saved my life.”

Dean shook his head.

“No,” he said. “That was all Sammy. And Garth.”

“I’m very grateful to the three of you,” said Castiel.

He gave Dean a gentle tug, allowing him to lean against his chest as Castiel moved the soapy washcloth over Dean’s back and shoulders.

“I tried,” said Dean, softly, and Castiel felt Dean’s lips moving against his skin. “I tried so damn hard, and I just wound up letting you fall, anyway.”

Castiel stopped what he was doing and grasped Dean by the shoulders, pushing him just far enough away that he could look into his eyes. Dean’s eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Castiel.

“When Dad came. I stood by and… you fell. It hurt your wing, I saw. And then I just left you there, left you right on the fucking kitchen floor.”

“That’s not how it happened,” said Castiel, gripping Dean a little tighter. “You made him leave.”

“No, _you_ made him leave,” said Dean. “I just stood there like a dumbass. Fucking useless.”

Castiel let go of Dean’s shoulders and brought his hands up to frame his face.

“Listen to me, Dean Winchester,” he said, gently stroking his thumbs over Dean’s cheekbones, wiping away the mixture of tears and water that flowed over the delicately freckled skin. “You are not useless. There was nothing you could have done to prevent John from showing up this afternoon. I know how difficult it was for you to reject your father, and I’m so sorry to be the cause of it. But Dean, you did nothing wrong.”

Dean shook his head again, backing away from Castiel’s touch. There wasn’t much room in the bathtub, and Castiel grabbed his arm, afraid he’d crash into the faucet and showerhead. Dean’s shoulders slumped, and he seemed to deflate.

“I love you, Cas,” he mumbled, staring at the mixture of water and soap swirling down the drain, refusing to make eye contact once again.

“Dean, I—“

“Can’t let you get hurt again.”

Dean was becoming more difficult to understand, the slurring of his words becoming more prominent. Castiel wrung out the washcloth and reached over to turn the water off, just as Dean’s knees started to buckle. Castiel adjusted his hold, practically carrying Dean from the bathroom to his bedroom.

Dean flopped gracelessly down onto the bed, waving away Castiel and his offer of helping Dean into some fresh clothes.

“At least get under the covers, then,” said Castiel, relatively certain that the temperature in the room, while comfortable at the moment, was not sufficiently warm enough to compensate for the drop in Dean’s body temperature that would occur during sleep.

“ ‘M fine.” Dean rolled over onto his side, facing away from Castiel.

Castiel crawled onto the bed and positioned himself behind Dean, their bodies fitting easily together. Dean scooted even farther away as soon as he felt the brush of Castiel’s skin against his.

“No,” he said, and Castiel moved back a little, giving him space.

“My apologies,” he said.

“ ‘S not you, Cas. I jus’… don’t deserve this. You. I can’t protect you. Can’t keep you safe.” Dean rolled onto his back, draping his forearm over his eyes. “You should go with Hannah t’morrow.”

Castiel suddenly lost the ability to speak, opening his mouth and then closing it dumbly.

“I asked Sam. There’s room for you, too, and you should… you should…” Dean’s voice faded, and he started to snore.

Castiel stared at him, hoping he’d heard wrong, hoping that it had just been Dean drunkenly rambling and nothing more. He stretched out on his stomach on the far side of the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of Dean’s chest. Gooseflesh began to appear on Dean’s skin, and Castiel quietly brought forth his wings, draping the one nearest to Dean over him a little hesitantly, wanting to respect Dean’s wishes for him not to get too close, but also not able to bear Dean’s discomfort.

Dean slept, and Castiel remained alert, going over Dean’s last words over and over again in his mind.

******

Dean migrated during the night, curling up against Castiel’s side, his hand resting atop the large bend of Castiel’s wing and his lips fused to Castiel’s shoulder. As the early rays of the sun filtered through the window blinds, Castiel wrapped an arm over Dean’s back, buried his nose in Dean’s fluffy, air-dried hair, and waited for him to wake.

Long minutes ticked by before Castiel belatedly realized that Dean was supposed to be going to work that morning. He gave him a gentle nudge, which only resulted in Dean grumbling unintelligibly and pressing even closer, his erection hard against Castiel’s thigh. And oh, Castiel longed for them to stay right where they were so that he could watch Dean wake up slowly, so that they could take turns pleasuring each other for hours.

He knew Dean wouldn’t want to be late for work, though, and gave him a firmer nudge.

“Wake-up, Dean,” he said, sternly.

Dean cracked his eyes halfway open and groaned, burying his face in Castiel’s wing.

“I am never drinking again,” he said, voice muffled. “Fuck.”

“You are very close to being late for work,” said Castiel.

“Dammit, I forgot,” said Dean. He managed to pull himself up to sit at the edge of the bed and hissed in pain, his head dropping to his hands.

Castiel cautiously sat down next to him.

“I know you didn’t want me to use my grace to detoxify you last night,” he said. “But I think it would be a good idea this morning. It would seem that showing up at work late and hungover on your second day back after suspension would not make a good impression.”

Dean didn’t respond for almost a full minute, then nodded without lifting his head. Castiel lightly rested a hand on his shoulder and concentrated.

“Shit,” said Dean, raising his head and blinking. “Thanks, Cas. I can’t remember the last time I was that drunk.” He glanced down at his watch. “Fuck. Still might be late, though.”

Dean pushed up from the bed, grabbed some clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom. Castiel tidied the bedroom and went to the kitchen to get breakfast started. As he cleared away the mess of beer bottles on the table, he wondered how Hannah was doing in the dormitory. He needed to go out there and prepare her for Sam’s arrival later that morning. Still, he continued scrambling eggs, not willing to let Dean leave before Castiel could make sure he was all right after what had happened the previous evening.

A few minutes later, Dean breezed through the kitchen, wolfing down eggs and toast and chatting cheerfully to Castiel. As he got up to leave, Castiel found himself questioning if the events of just hours earlier had even happened.

“Sam’s going to come this morning to remove Hannah’s collar and make a false one for her,” said Dean, glancing up from his phone as he checked his e-mail. “And, if you think she’s strong enough, Sam can take Hannah with him when he leaves, and get her to the transport that’s leaving for the colony this afternoon.”

“I think it would be best for her to leave sooner rather than later,” said Castiel. “She will be able to heal faster and better amongst our own kind.”

Dean slipped his phone in his pocked and grabbed his keys. Castiel collected the dirty dishes and deposited them in the sink.

“Cas,” said Dean.

Castiel turned to face him.

“I meant what I said last night. You should go with Hannah. There’s another opening at the colony, and Hannah would probably feel more comfortable if you were there. It would be safer, too. You don’t deserve to be living on edge, worrying about when the other shoe is going to drop.”

“Dean…”

“You know I’m right. Look at last night. I let you fall, and just left you there.” Dean’s voice broke, and he looked away. “You deserve better than that, Cas.”

Castiel took his time answering, sensing that protesting Dean’s insistence that Castiel’s safety was somehow in jeopardy if he remained in Dean’s presence would fall on deaf ears.

“What about Chuck Shurley’s ruling?” he asked at last. “I am to remain in your custody for the remainder of your existence.”

“Screw Chuck and his death clauses,” said Dean. “I’ll just say that you died. That the collar you were wearing when we rescued you did more damage than any of us had anticipated, and you died of some weird grace thing. They’d buy it.”

Panic rose within him, for Dean’s plan sounded so final, so absolute. If Dean were to tell all involved that Castiel died, that meant they’d never be able to see each other again. It would be too risky. Castiel’s grace pulsed in protest, and the coffee mug he held exploded in his hand.

“You okay?” asked Dean, bending to retrieve the shards nearest where he stood. “What the hell happened?”

“It slipped,” said Castiel, reining in his grace. How disgraceful for him to lose control like a fledgling. He waved a hand, causing the ceramic chunks to disappear from Dean’s hand, and the cup to appear, completely repaired, in the sink with the rest of the dishes.

“Think about it,” said Dean. He drew close to Castiel and brushed their lips together. “I don’t want any more bad shit to happen to you. This will work. Sam’s got it all planned.”

“Do I… have to?” asked Castiel.

Dean sighed and leaned forward, resting their foreheads together as they’d done the previous afternoon before John’s arrival.

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to,” he said. “But this is the best thing for the both of us. If you take a minute to think about it, you’ll see it.”

“Dean…”

Dean pulled away.

“Bye, Cas.”

******

Hannah held it together until the instant she stepped over the threshold and was confronted with Sam Winchester seated at the kitchen table.

“No,” she said, stopping short. Her attempt to back away was thwarted by Castiel standing behind her. Her fear-filled eyes locked onto Sam, and Castiel could feel her trembling against him.

“Hello, Hannah,” said Sam, his voice quiet and gentle. He made no move to rise, remaining seated at the table, giving Hannah space.

“Sam is here to help,” said Castiel. “His removal of your collar will allow you to heal, and then he’ll help you to find the angel colony. There, you will be free in every sense of the word, and will never have to look upon a human again.”

“How can you be sure?” whispered Hannah, years of experiencing human lies and manipulations firsthand evident in the way she’d tensed, ready to bolt at the next opportunity. The way she never looked away from Sam, as though expecting him to attack at any moment. “I know you say that he is trustworthy, that he is your… he’s Dean’s family. But, this could all be a trick. Humans are cruel in this way, making you think one thing, and then doing another.”

Sam didn’t overtly react to Hannah’s words, but Castiel noticed the slight dip to his head and slouch of his posture, as if all the sins of his species weighed physically upon him. Castiel took a step out from behind Hannah to stand next to her, and took her hand in his. He took another step forward, not forcing, or pulling at Hannah, but waiting until she moved with him. When they approached the table, Castiel reached out with his other hand and laid it on Sam’s shoulder.

“Sam is my friend,” he said, squeezing Sam’s shoulder as he said it. Sam looked up at him, smiling softly, and for an instant Castiel was transported back in time. He remembered coming upon Sam huddled at the base of the old oak tree in the front yard after his first day of first grade, his face streaked with tears.

_“No one likes me, Cas,” he’d sniffled, scuffing his brand new sneakers in the dirt. “I don’t have any friends.”_

_“You have Dean,” said Castiel._

_Sam wiped his nose on his sleeve._

_“Dean doesn’t count. He’s my brother.”_

_Castiel settled down next to Sam, ignoring the twinge of the new collar John had just fitted him with._

_“You have me,” he said, cautiously, unsure of how Sam would react. He was just an angel, after all. A slave. And just because Dean seemed fond of referring to him as a friend didn’t necessarily mean that Sam would share that view._

_Sam looked up at him, smiling through his tears._

_“You’re my friend?” he said, and there was no mistaking the hope in his voice._

_“Of course,” said Castiel._

_Sam launched himself into Castiel’s arms, and Castiel had to use his grace to keep himself from being bowled over. Sam’s smile widened, and he looked up at Castiel._

_“Thanks, Cas.”_

Sam continued to smile up at him, and Castiel recalled with a pang how he’d denied their friendship in the days before the trial. Sam had brushed it off, had helped him even though it was a blow to his professional status and a betrayal to his father.

Hannah still looked skeptical, and though Castiel wasn’t bodily holding her back, he sensed that were it not for their joined hands, she would flee.

“Sam is my friend,” he said again. “He has helped many angels in the past, in just this manner. He and Dean have saved my life twice, now.”

“I can answer any questions you might have,” said Sam, finally looking in her direction, but taking care not to stare as he met Hannah’s gaze. “You are in control, here. I’m not going to do anything without your permission.”

Hannah didn’t concern herself with manners, and stared openly at Sam. Slowly, shakily, she stretched her free hand across the table and covered Sam’s folded hands with her palm.

“He speaks the truth,” she said, turning to Castiel in amazement.

******

Sam was able to remove Hannah’s collar quickly and easily. He had already started on a false collar, and it needed only a few adjustments and personalization to ensure that it would stand up to the scrutiny of those monitoring angels crossing state lines. After he’d inscribed the last sigil, he started to fit it to Hannah’s neck, freezing in position when she reared back.

“Cas?” said Sam.

“Would you rather I assisted you?” said Castiel to Hannah. She gave a quick nod, and he took the collar from Sam and buckled it around Hannah’s neck. Hannah let out a breath as the clasp clicked into place.

“It… doesn’t hurt,” she said.

“That’s the idea,” said Sam, smiling.

“Thank you,” said Hannah. “Not just for this, for the collar, but for your kindness and patience. You and your brother are unique, I think, amongst humans.”

“Not so unique,” said Sam. “More and more of us are starting to support angel rights. It was my wife, Sarah, who first got me involved in all of this. You’ll meet her in a few hours, for the second leg of the journey. Speaking of, Cas, I need to make some alterations to your false collar before we leave, so that it won’t look out of place in Arkansas.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Castiel.

“You’re staying,” said Sam.

Castiel nodded.

“Did you give it any thought at all?” asked Sam.

“Of course I thought about it,” said Castiel. “How could I think of anything else? And if I thought Dean would truly be happier with me gone, I would go in an instant.”

“It’s not just about Dean,” said Sam. “I want him to be happy, too, but not at the expense of your safety. What happened with Dad could happen again. There are a lot of angry people out there, and Dean’s not exactly unknown in the community. This might be what’s best for both of you. Not to mention, this is a surefire way to get out of that death clause.”

Castiel slid of his stool.

“It’s nearly lunchtime,” he said, motioning for Hannah to remain seated when she moved to assist. “Sam, your tastes run toward lighter fare than what Dean usually eats, is that correct? There’s some grilled chicken and salad fixings in the refrigerator.”

“You can’t just change the subject like that.”

Castiel sighed.

“You didn’t see the state of Dean last night,” he said.

“Was he drinking?” said Sam. “He wasn’t drunk when I talked to him but… I had a feeling that’s where he was heading.”

“Having to go against his natural familial loyalty like that was very distressing for Dean,” said Castiel, opening the refrigerator and pulling out the chicken, as well as spinach, tomatoes, bell peppers, carrots, and onions. He arranged everything on a cutting board and selected a knife, preferring to work manually, as it would give him something to do with his hands. He wasn’t surprised when Sam came up behind him and grabbed an onion and the second cutting board.

“I think it was even more distressing for Dean to see you in danger,” said Sam.

“Nothing happened,” said Castiel.

“But it could. That’s Dean’s point. You’re at risk if you stay here.”

Castiel laid down his knife.

“No more here than anywhere else,” he said. “There has been much publicity surrounding my situation. If someone wanted to find me, they could, even with the official story being that I am dead. At least here… here I would be with Dean. Whatever happens.”

Castiel took Sam’s lack of response to mean he agreed, though was unwilling to admit it. Castiel picked up his knife again, and sliced the top off of a yellow bell pepper. Sam swiped at his eyes with a nearby hand towel.

“Onions,” he said, in response to Castiel’s inquiring stare.

Castiel set his pepper slices aside and silently switched his cutting board with Sam’s. He noticed that Sam’s eyes still seemed watery and red a few minutes later.

“I can’t leave him,” said Castiel.

“I know,” said Sam.

******

Several hours after Sam left with a slightly anxious, yet eager Hannah, Castiel stood in the dormitory, staring down at Hannah’s empty bed. Castiel had removed the bedding and laundered it, then stowed it away in the linen closet adjacent to the bathroom. Every trace of Hannah had been wiped away from the place, and it stood, empty and pristine, awaiting the arrival of the next wayward angel to cross Dean’s path.

Castiel was happy for Hannah, but there was a part of him that felt hollow, that mourned her loss. He, Hannah, and Gabriel had been close in the earliest part of their existence, and Castiel could remember the adventures they had, sneaking way from their caretakers and exploring the compound. The three of them were never without each other’s company, and the knowledge that they were to be sent to separate facilities to be trained was almost too much to bear.

Gabriel had been the most optimistic; eager to get out in the real world and meet the humans he expected to spend his lifetime serving. Hannah was a little more wary. She wasn’t resistant to the idea of servitude, but she was worried about not being able to measure up to her human owners’ expectations. Castiel had been the one to blatantly state that, though humans intrigued and fascinated him, he would never recognize a human master, never allow a human to have that level of control over him.

Interesting the way things had turned out, mused Castiel as the rumble of Dean’s car sounded from outside. He wished Gabriel could have had the opportunity to see Hannah before she left. It would have been nice for them to have some time together. Hannah’s quick departure was for the best, though, and Castiel felt that Gabriel would be happy, in the end, to know that Hannah had been given such an amazing opportunity.

Castiel took one last look around the dormitory, and turned toward the door, steeling himself for whatever reaction Dean would have to seeing that he had not accompanied Hannah as asked. He walked into the lengthening evening shadows, preparing to head straight to the house. A sound off to his left caught his attention, and he looked to see Dean standing down by the oak tree, arms crossed over his chest, gazing at the empty hammock, unmoving.

Castiel headed in that direction. Dean didn’t seem to notice his approach.

“Hello, Dean,” said Castiel, stopping just behind him.

Dean turned round, eyes wide, and Castiel braced himself from the inevitable tirade. Instead, Dean took half a step forward and pulled Castiel roughly to him, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s back and squeezing him tight. Castiel returned the embrace, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder and allowing his eyes to fall closed against the firey glare of the setting sun. Castiel couldn’t say exactly how long they stood like that, but he knew it was longer than Dean normally allowed for this type contact.

“Dean,” said Castiel, uncertainly, after nearly a minute with Dean showing no signs of letting go.

“Cas,” said Dean, his voice muffled by Castiel’s tunic. “I—“

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel. “I know you are disappointed.”

Dean increased the pressure of his arms around Castiel, as if he was afraid Castiel might slip away.

“Jesus, Cas, no. I’m glad.”

“You’re… glad?”

“Yes. I’m stupidly, selfishly glad that you’re still here. I don’t want to lose you again, even if it’s not exactly in your best interest to be here.”

Castiel pulled back slightly, cupping Dean’s cheek with one hand.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on what is or is not in my best interest,” he said. “My place is here. With you.”

Eyes suspiciously bright, Dean brought their lips together in a bruising kiss. Castiel opened up to it, twining their tongues together and dragging his teeth along Dean’s lower lip as they pulled apart.

“So, you’re staying,” said Dean, still so close that Castiel felt the puff of his breath on his cheek.

“Yes,” Castiel breathed into Dean’s open mouth, gently bumping their noses together as he received Dean’s next kiss. He closed his eyes, lost in the slide of Dean’s lips against his own, of his taste, so human, and the smell of him, of his citrus shampoo and the clean sweat that had accumulated during the day’s work.

The sun disappeared below the horizon, twilight muting the colors that the brilliant sunset had illuminated just moments earlier. The leaves of the tree rustled above them, and that same breeze set Castiel’s hair flying in all directions. Dean chuckled, and raised a hand to try and corral it.

“You wanna go inside?” he asked.

Castiel didn’t, really. He much preferred to be out in the open air, to feel the wind driving through the thin material of his uniform, to hear the peeping frogs down by the creek. He longed to sink down onto the hammock, pulling Dean with him and wrapping him in his wings, and lie there for the rest of the night, watching the stars appear and brighten in the night sky and fade into nothingness as the sun reappeared.

Dean would feel more comfortable inside, though, especially after what had happened with John the previous night, so Castiel nodded and placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, transporting them to Dean’s bedroom.

Castiel waited for Dean to get his bearings, then brushed their lips together as his fingers began working at the buttons of Dean’s suit jacket, his shirt, and then the knot of his tie. Dean complicated things, tangling their arms together as he reached for Castiel’s clothing. It was a little clumsy, but as long as Castiel could feel Dean’s skin against his own, it didn’t matter.

As Dean’s clothing was more intricate than Castiel’s, and there was more of it, he was still wearing his boxers and socks as he and Castiel stretched out on the cool sheets. Castiel got rid of the socks, first. He then slowly worked his way up Dean’s legs, dropping a kiss here and there, and mouthing at the cotton-covered bulge between Dean’s thighs. He slid the boxers down, tossing them aside, and returned his attention to Dean’s half-hard cock, first suckling at the tip, and then gradually taking him deeper as Dean gasped breathless encouragement above him.

Castiel pulled off, ignoring the sound of disappointment from Dean, and crawled farther up the bed, slotting their cocks together and rolling his hips into Dean’s. He swallowed Dean’s quiet moan and angled his head to give Dean better access as he chased the taste of himself on Castiel’s tongue.

“Dean,” said Castiel. “Dean, I… I want…”

“Anything,” murmured Dean, the pad of his thumb tracing along the line of Castiel’s jaw. “Anything, Cas.”

“I want… you.”

“You got me,” exhaled Dean, his breath cooling the sweat pooled in the hollow of Castiel’s throat.

Castiel kissed along the curve of Dean’s cheekbone, pausing just short of Dean’s ear.

“You,” he said, lips brushing against skin, “I want to… receive…”

Dean stilled, and propped himself up on one elbow. He smoothed a shock of hair back from Castiel’s forehead.

“Cas,” he said, quietly. “You don’t have to do that. You don’t ever have to do that, got it?”

“I got it,” said Castiel. “But Dean—“

Dean sighed and rolled over onto his back.

“How much of this,” he gestured between the two of them, “Is just because you think it’s something I want to do? You said yourself that this… none of this ever happens between angels.”

Castiel rested a hand on Dean’s chest.

“The truth?” he asked.

Dean nodded.

“I’d rather be outside,” said Castiel, honestly.

“That’s not what I asked—“

“It is,” said Castiel. “You asked, specifically, how much of what we’re doing is me humoring you? And I answered truthfully. I prefer to be outdoors. Just because this type of physical expression of bonding doesn’t come naturally to angels doesn’t mean it’s not pleasurable, Dean.”

“The other night—“

“I had a moment of panic,” said Castiel. “Certain… memories… of my past sometimes surface at inopportune moments, but that doesn’t mean…” Castiel trailed off and moved his hand up, gently tilting Dean’s face toward him until their eyes met. “I want this, Dean. With you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” whispered Dean.

Castiel trailed his fingers over the rough stubble over Dean’s chin and his smooth, kiss-swollen lips.

“You won’t,” he said, matching Dean’s tone. “I trust you. Please, Dean.”

Eyes still locked onto Castiel’s, Dean nodded again.

“Okay,” he said. “If you’re sure.”

Castiel removed his fingers from Dean’s lips, replacing them with his mouth. Dean increased the intensity of the kiss, grasping Castiel’s shoulders and pushing Castiel onto his back.

“One second,” he said, breaking off the kiss, and he turned away, rummaging around in the top drawer of the nightstand.

Castiel turned over onto his stomach, legs spread, hands fisting in the pillowcase. He wanted this, it was true, but a part of him was apprehensive, and would remain so until it was over.

“Hey,” came Dean’s voice from over his left shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

Castiel lifted his head.

“Is this not correct?” he asked.

“Well, that’s one way,” said Dean, and Castiel wasn’t quite sure what to make of his pinched, tight expression. “Cas, are you absolutely sure about this?”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Castiel. “I need you to… I need to have this with you, so that there’s something more than it being done to me by… by them.”

Dean’s expression softened, and he leaned forward to lightly press a kiss to Castiel’s forehead.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Turn over. I want you to see me. And I need to see you.”

Castiel moved onto his back, relaxing into the warmth and familiarity of Dean’s kisses. Dean eased back, lowering his head to lick a trail down Castiel’s neck and torso before settling himself between Castiel’s legs. He placed wet, open-mouthed kisses along the insides of Castiel’s thighs, and then swallowed Castiel down in one motion.

Castiel dropped his head back onto the pillow, breathing in quick, shallow pants. He heard the snap of a plastic cap, and then felt something cold and wet circling his entrance. He lifted his hips slightly, and Dean slipped his lubed finger between Castiel’s buttocks, his fingertip breeching the firm ring of muscle.

Castiel tried to slow his breathing, tried to force himself to relax. It didn’t hurt, but there was a vague feeling of discomfort. Dean hollowed out his cheeks and increased the pressure of his mouth on Castiel’s cock, and suddenly all Castiel was aware of was the wet heat surrounding him, and the slide of Dean’s tongue along his shaft.

Dean pressed his finger in a little farther, rolling Castiel’s balls with his other hand at the same time, and Castiel couldn’t stop his pleased moan. Dean’s eyes met his, dark with lust. He threw one of Castiel’s legs over his shoulder and pulled back until only the tip of Castiel’s cock remained between his lips. He tongued at the slit, lapping up dribbles of precome, and slowly began to move his finger in and out of Castiel’s hole.

There was no pain, and that feeling of mild discomfort had vanished. Dean swallowed Castiel down again, adding a second finger as he did so. There was a bit of a burn with that one, and Castiel involuntarily tensed. Before he could react further, Dean’s fingers brushed against something deep within him, something that sent sparks of pleasure up and down his spine. He cried out in shock at the immense pleasure, and his wings manifested, beating the air on either side of the bed as Dean’s fingers found his prostate again.

Dean pulled all of the way off of Castiel’s cock.

“You doing okay, Cas?” he asked, grinning as Castiel’s wings stretched toward him, feather tips brushing against Dean’s cheekbones and fanning out over his head.

“Please, Dean,” gasped Castiel. “More.”

Dean obliged, adding a third finger, his other hand reaching forward to card through the long flight feathers of Castiel’s wing. Castiel trembled, the combination almost too much to bear, and he writhed on the sweat dampened sheets. He heard Dean’s quiet curse, felt his fingers clench on his wing even as the fingers of the other hand spread inside of him.

And then, suddenly, it was all gone, and Castiel whimpered at the sudden emptiness.

“Please, Dean,” he begged.

“Okay, okay,” said Dean, his voice a low rumble. “I got you, Cas.”

Castiel lifted his head slightly from the pillow and saw Dean slicking his cock with lube and then lining up to Castiel’s entrance. Their eyes met, and Castiel nodded, his wings fluttering behind Dean’s back. Dean slowly, gently pressed inside, and Castiel gasped at the feeling of fullness. Dean was completely still, giving Castiel time to adjust.

“You alright?” he asked, after a few seconds, and Castiel nodded again, his head dropping back down onto the pillow as Dean began to move. Castiel trailed his feather tips up and down the rippling muscles of Dean’s back, and Dean threw his head back with a groan, exposing the long, pale column of his throat.

Castiel couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t speak, as the intensity of the affection he felt for the human in front of him hit with the force of freight train. Castiel’s grace roiled beneath his skin, spurred by force of the emotion, of the feeling. Affection, suddenly, seemed a completely inadequate term for what he was experiencing.

Castiel closed his eyes, attempting to subdue his churning grace. It resisted, straining and reaching, and it took Castiel a few seconds to realize that it was seeking Dean, seeking the grace of another to merge with, to complete the bond. And, as Dean was human and didn’t have a grace, Castiel’s grace was being drawn to the next best thing… Dean’s soul. Castiel concentrated, directing his energy inward, corralling his grace and forcing it down, deep within him.

Dean leaned forward, oblivious to Castiel’s internal struggle, his hands braced on the bend of each of Castiel’s wings, and brought their lips together. The change of angle forced Dean’s cock against Castiel’s prostate with each thrust, and Castiel couldn’t stop the utter nonsense that poured from his mouth into Dean’s… Dean’s name intercut with snatches of Enochian, but always coming back to Dean, Dean, Dean.

Dean’s hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering.

“Close, Cas,” he mumbled, and one hand slipped off of Castiel’s wing to slip between their bodies and wrap around Castiel’s cock. Castiel gasped, and his wings encircled Dean as though they were a physical manifestation of his grace, drawing Dean in, pressing them closer together. Dean gave one last thrust and came inside Castiel, just as Castiel spilled over Dean’s fist.

The orgasm punched through him so forcefully that Castiel saw stars, and his grace surged up in pursuit of Dean’s soul. Castiel wrestled it down again, his pleasure morphing into discomfort that fast turned to pain… excruciating pain.

Dean’s eyes, wide and terrified, were what Castiel saw last before darkness claimed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger, guys. *Runs and hides*
> 
> *Update 04-28-2016* Apologies for the delay in getting the next chapter up. I had some real life stuff happen that severely limited my writing time (this is what I get for ending on a cliffhanger). Know that I'm working as hard as I can, and that the next chapter will be up within the next few weeks.


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I really intended to have this up within a few weeks of posting the last chapter. And then real life STUFF happened. Real life stuff is mostly under control, now. 
> 
> And here's the chapter.

“Cas? Cas!” called Dean, shaking the angel’s shoulder and lightly slapping his face.

Castiel remained motionless, eyes closed, wings limply drooping off the sides of the bed. Dean crouched at Castiel’s side and touched his fingers to the pulse point of his neck. He felt the flutter of Castiel’s heartbeat even though his hands shook, and he sank back onto his heels, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Castiel’s chest. He looked, for all the world, like he was sleeping. Except, angels shouldn’t need to sleep. And Dean hadn’t missed the way Castiel’s entire body went rigid just before he’d lost consciousness. Castiel had been in pain. And he’d been frightened.

“Cas,” said Dean, again, unsurprised when he received no response. As much as he hated it, there was nothing to do but wait for Castiel to wake up. Until then, all he could do was make sure Castiel was as comfortable as possible.

Dean slid off the bed and padded into the bathroom, where he found a washcloth and wet it with warm water. He returned to the bedroom and gently cleaned Castiel up, trying not to think about all the times before that Castiel had been able to simply use his grace to think them clean. He dried Castiel thoroughly with a thick, soft towel, and eased him into a pair of Dean’s pajama pants… the navy pair pattered with yellow that he knew Castiel liked because it reminded him of stars against the night sky.

Dean couldn’t ever remember Castiel lying flat on his back like that with his wings out for long, and carefully rolled him over onto his stomach. Castiel gave a quiet sigh at the movement, but didn’t react in any other way, despite Dean’s resumed attempts to rouse him.

“Okay, fine,” said Dean, admitting defeat a few moments later. “You can sleep for now, but you gotta wake up in a few, and tell me what the hell just happened, alright?”

Dean ran a hand through Castiel’s unruly mess of hair, trying to smooth it down some. His hand continued to drift down, over the back of Castiel’s neck and his strong, broad shoulders, to where his wings were attached, just off of Castiel’s shoulder blades. Dean swept his fingers through the small, downy feathers that grew closest to where the wings met Castiel’s body and continued over the surface of the wing, the shape and texture of the feathers changing as Dean worked his way outward. Dean gasped as the feathers started fluffing beneath his hand, and the wing itself pressed upward, as though seeking more of Dean’s touch. A quick glance at Castiel’s face revealed that he was still dead to the world. His wing wasn’t, though. His wing seemed to recognize Dean.

Dean briefly withdrew his hand and draped the blanket over Castiel’s lower half, tucking it up around the base of his wings. He then worked his way beneath Castiel’s left wing, pressing a soft kiss to Castiel’s slack lips and wrapping an arm around his waist. He felt the pressure of Castiel’s wing over his shoulders, and smiled. Castiel might be unconscious, but his wings were acting normally, and Dean took that to mean Castiel would be okay.

******

It was mid-morning before Castiel started to stir beside him. He reached for Dean, and drew him closer with both his arms and his wings. Dean rested his head on Castiel’s shoulder, not caring that Castiel’s warm breath tickled his ear, or that he was growing uncomfortably hot beneath the combined weight of the blankets and the wing.

Castiel’s breathing became less regular, and Dean felt him stretch. He gave Castiel’s shoulder a quick kiss and slid back a little, so that he could meet Castiel’s sleepy, slightly dazed blue eyes.

“Dean,” murmured Castiel, smiling slightly.

“Cas,” said Dean. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You wanna tell me what the hell that was?”

“Mmmm.”

Castiel’s eyes slipped closed again, and he tucked his head beneath Dean’s chin, nuzzling into his collarbone. Dean slid back until they were an arm’s length apart. Castiel’s eyes popped open at the loss of contact.

“You scared the shit out of me, Cas,” said Dean. “What happened?”

Castiel blinked, and his wings disappeared. He pulled himself to a sitting position with a groan, massaging his forehead with one hand, squinting at the sunlight filtering through the blinds. He looked pale underneath a sheen of sweat.

“Are you sick?” asked Dean, scooting closer.

“No,” said Castiel, looking away and focusing on disentangling himself from the bedding. “I believe I just… overexerted my grace a bit. I’m fine, now.”

“That was a little dramatic for just overdoing it,” said Dean.

“I’m sorry to cause you to worry,” said Castiel, eyes darting from the bedding, to the framed photo of the Impala on the wall, to the curtains gently wafting in the spring breeze, anywhere but Dean. “But I’m fine. Really.”

Castiel was the worst fucking liar. Dean took a deep breath, ready to call him on it, but Castiel suddenly sat up straight.

“Dean,” he said, “Don’t you have to be at work?”

“I just have home visits, today,” said Dean.

Castiel tilted his head in confusion.

“Checking up on my angel placements,” explained Dean. “I go out and visit each angel and their families. I speak with them together, and with the humans and the angels separately. Just to make sure everyone’s doing okay. Anyway, I don’t have to go to the station unless they call me in.”

Dean leaned over to the nightstand and checked his phone.

“I probably should start getting ready, though. I scheduled Aaron and Gabriel first, to give me a little bit of a buffer… it’s not like I don’t hear enough from the two of them as it is. But I do have others I need to get to.”

Castiel relaxed back against the headboard. He still looked wiped.

“I could reschedule,” said Dean.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you saying that a million times isn’t going to make it true.”

Castiel turned away from Dean and stared out the window.

“Please, Dean. Go.”

Dean sighed and stood up.

“Get some rest,” he said. “You look like hell. I’ll be back later.”

******

It was late in the afternoon by the time Dean made the final turn into the dusty driveway. His expectation of an easy day of visitations had been proven absolutely false. Daniel’s placement wasn’t working out. It was no one’s fault; not the angel’s, or the well-meaning couple who’d taken him in after Dean had rescued him. It just wasn’t a good match, though no one would admit it. Dean hated those types of visits, couldn’t get the strain on the humans’ faces or the fear on the angel’s out of his head. But, so long as everyone involved continued to insist that things were fine, outside of obvious of abuse (of which there was none) there was nothing Dean could do.

Benny called while Dean was supposed to be on his lunch. He had news of several sightings of Crowley in the area. None of them panned out, but Benny was concerned about the sudden influx of reports after months of dead silence. If Crowley really had returned to Lawrence, did that mean he was plotting something? Dean and Benny were both concerned, and Dean wasn’t looking forward to talking to Castiel about it.

He _really_ wasn’t looking forward to talking to Castiel about the visit with Aaron and Gabriel that morning. The Aaron and Gabriel visit was supposed to have been his easy one, his opportunity to hang out and shoot the shit, to grab a cup of coffee and a donut before getting down to the real work of the day. Instead, he was confronted by the pair of them, more serious and sober than Dean could ever remember having seen them. Gabriel wanted his freedom. Aaron didn’t want to keep an unwilling angel. It made him feel like a kidnapper, he said.

Dean could sympathize, but deciding how to proceed from there was no simple matter. Sam had been called in to consult. Nothing had really been resolved over the phone, and Dean had arranged to take the next day off and hash everything out with Sam, Aaron, and Gabriel at the house.

Dean parked his Baby in front of the garage and stepped outside. He could just make out Castiel’s silhouette down beyond the oak tree, at the spot they’d set up the beehives. Shit. With everything else going on, Dean had forgotten that the bees were due to be delivered that day.

Castiel turned as Dean approached.

“Stay back,” he said. “You shouldn’t come any closer without protective clothing. They’re still a little unsettled.”

Dean stopped.

“I don’t see you wearing a bee suit,” he said.

Castiel shot him a look over his shoulder and slowly extended his hand. A cluster of five or six bees landed on his knuckles and began crawling around. Castiel looked down at them, and Dean didn’t even have to see his face to know with utter certainty he wore a small, indulgent smile. Castiel murmured a few words in what sounded like Enochian, and the bees took off. Castiel watched them disappear into the dusk before joining Dean where he stood a safe distance from the hives.

Up close, Dean saw that his face and clothing were smudged with dirt, and his hair was a disaster. Underneath the layer of grime, he still looked tired.

“I forgot they were coming today,” said Dean, waving a hand in the direction of the beehives. “I didn’t mean for you to have to do all of that in addition to everything else.”

Castiel leaned forward and pressed his lips to Dean’s.

“It was just what I needed today. Thank you,” he said, drawing back slightly.

Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist, not wanting him to get too far away. Dean smelled what he swore was the lingering essence of the setting sun in Castiel’s hair.

Castiel leaned into Dean’s embrace, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder with a soft sigh.

“You sure you’re good?” asked Dean. “Because this morning—“

“I’m absolutely fine,” said Castiel, firmly, and as he straightened Dean caught the full force of the intensity of his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Dean. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I still can’t… it almost doesn’t seem real that you’re actually here to stay. That you chose this. I just don’t want it going bad for you.” Dean’s voice wavered a little at the end, there, and he had to look away.

He felt the gentle pressure of two fingers beneath his chin, and allowed Castiel to guide his head upwards, so that they were once again face-to-face. Castiel’s eyes were softer, now, though no less intent.

“I don’t want to lose you,” said Dean.

“You won’t,” said Castiel.

“Cas…”

“I promise.”

******

Dean didn’t say anything about Crowley and Gabriel until after Castiel cleaned himself up, and they’d both eaten some dinner. Other than the brief flash of discomfort that crossed Castiel’s face as he used his grace to clear away the dirt and muck from his skin and clothing, Castiel seemed to be doing pretty well. He took the news about Crowley in stride, agreeing with Dean’s suggestion of meeting with Benny to discuss the case as soon as possible.

He was more concerned about the situation with Gabriel. Dean couldn’t blame him. While the threat of Crowley was always looming, the Gabriel problem did seem to be the most pressing concern at the moment. He couldn’t really see a way for Gabriel to get what he wanted and still keep himself (and other angels) out of danger. Castiel didn’t respond to Dean’s hollow assurances that everything would work out, but he did curl up next to Dean in bed with both his arms and his wings wrapped around him. He didn’t speak, but as Dean managed to work one hand free to stroke the soft feathers, he did relax. Dean smiled into the shock of dark hair just beneath his chin and kept petting Castiel’s wing until he could fight sleep no longer.

******

 

Sam arrived earlier than Dean would have expected the next morning, well before Aaron and Gabriel were due to arrive. Dean stood at the sink, still in his pajama pants, filling the coffee pot as Sam breezed through the door.

“Ever hear of knocking, bitch?” said Dean, sliding the pot onto the coffee maker with a clatter and scanning the room for a T-shirt or sweatshirt or hell, even a blanket. Normally he wouldn’t care who saw him shirtless… it wasn’t like he was a prude or anything… but there were currently two giant hickeys on his chest; Castiel’s doing from a few days earlier.

“Ever hear of getting dressed when you know company’s coming, jerk?” returned Sam, depositing his shoulder bag onto the table.

Castiel appeared a few moments later, having just finished his morning check on the bees.

“They seem to be doing well,” he said, carefully shutting the screen door behind him. “I’ve not noticed any signs of stress. Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, Cas,” said Sam.

“Do you have news of Hannah?” asked Castiel as he joined Sam at the table.

“She’s doing great,” said Sam. “I just got a text from Sarah before I left. Hannah’s wounds have completely healed, and being around her own kind, away from humans, have done wonders for her emotional wellbeing. She’s happy, Cas. I can say that with one hundred percent certainty.”

Castiel leaned forward, enveloping Sam in a warm embrace.

“Thank you,” he said.

Sam returned the hug, and the two of them stood like that for several seconds as Dean approached the table with the full coffee pot and five mugs.

“Okay, you two, break it up,” he said, just before the front door once again flew open.

“Have no fear, the most problematic angel in the land is here,” announced Gabriel, leaping into the room with much fanfare.

Aaron followed quietly, no evidence of his usual good humor on his face. Gabriel’s eyes widened at the sight of Sam and Castiel standing together at the end of the table.

“Whew, Dean, bringing in the big guns, are we?” said Gabriel, slapping Sam on the ass as he passed. “You think Samsquatch over here is going to solve the pesky issue of little ol’ me for you?”

“You better hope he can, because your options are pretty limited,” growled Dean, his tone more irritated than he’d intended. He sympathized with Gabriel, he really did, but the whole devil may care act was hard to take, especially given the situation.

“Please, brother,” said Castiel, stepping forward. “Sam and Dean just want to help. They have your best interests at heart.”

“Sure they do,” said Gabriel, rolling his eyes. He grabbed one of the coffee cups and filled it halfway with coffee, adding creamer until the milky liquid reached the brim before taking an impressively sized gulp. “That’s why I’m still enslaved, with my grace bound. Why, when there was an opening in a free colony _he_ ” Gabriel glared at Sam “outright refused my request. I’m fed up, Cas. I—“ Gabriel broke off as Castiel drew nearer, his eyes fixing on Castiel’s over the rim of his cup.

“What the?” Gabriel said, sloshing what pretty much amounted to liquid sugar onto the table as he roughly set his mug down. He placed a gentle hand on Castiel’s chin, tilting his head to get a better look into the other angel’s eyes.

“No,” he said, and turned toward Dean, his eyes lingering on his bare chest, taking in the hickeys. Without another word, Gabriel dropped his hand from Castiel’s face and launched himself at Dean.

“You son of a bitch!” he snarled, prevented from making contact by Castiel grabbing him by the shoulders.

Dean stumbled backward in surprise.

“What the hell, Gabe?” he said, regaining his balance.

Gabriel continued to struggle against Castiel’s hold, his expression murderous. Dean hadn’t ever seen him like that before. The closest he’d come had been that day in the courtroom, when Castiel had recounted his torture during his time with Crowley.

“Gabriel, please,” said Castiel, moving farther away from Dean. “Stop.”

“Stop?” grunted Gabriel, still fighting to free himself. “After what he’s done to you? He’s killing you!”

“Killing him!” exclaimed Dean.

“No better than the scum you “rescued” him from,” said Gabriel.

“The hell are you talking about?” said Dean, which only seemed to enrage Gabriel further.

Unnoticed by anyone, Aaron had silently made his way over to Castiel and Gabriel.

“Gabriel,” he said, and laid a hand on Gabriel’s arm.

Gabriel whirled around to face him, eyes wild. They stared at each other for a moment, and slowly the fight drained from Gabriel’s body, and he stilled in Castiel’s arms.

“He doesn’t know,” Gabriel said to Castiel.

“No,” said Castiel, tentatively loosening his hold.

Gabriel stepped away and glared at Dean, though he didn’t try to attack.

“What is he talking about, Cas?” said Dean.

Castiel’s gaze dropped to the floor.

“Normally when you humans use us, it’s not life threatening,” said Gabriel. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s horrible. But we can bear it.”

“Because there’s no reciprocation on the part of the angel,” said Sam.

Gabriel nodded, his eyes still on Dean.

“Angels aren’t meant to bond with humans,” he said. “Castiel’s grace thinks he’s mated. Not being permitted to merge with the grace of another is destroying it. Him.”

“Cas,” said Dean, and Castiel slowly raised his head. “Is he telling the truth?”

The miserable expression on Castiel’s face was all the answer Dean needed. He thought back to the times that Castiel had seemed in pain recently. It was always after or during sex. The human version of bonding.

“Dammit,” muttered Dean.

“Dean…” said Cas, sidestepping Gabriel and moving closer to Dean.

Dean held up a hand.

“I just need a minute,” he said.

******

Dean paced the worn wooden plank floor of the porch, hands clasped behind his back. Castiel was dying. Again. And this time it was Dean who was killing him, who was directly responsible for it. Dean stopped and looked out over the yard, gripping the porch rail tightly. The warm, spring sun shown down on the colorful mess of flowers that exploded from every direction. Bees buzzed everywhere, lighting delicately on vibrantly hued petals.

Dean heard the screen door open and shut behind him, and Castiel’s gravel voice.

“I brought you these.”

Dean turned around to see Castiel just behind him, carrying an armload of clothes.

“Thanks,” said Dean, grabbing the T-shirt and yanking it over his head. It was one of his favorite Zeppelin tees.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” said Castiel, handing him a pair of boxers, followed by faded jeans.

“Yeah?” said Dean. “And how would you have preferred I find out? You suddenly dropping dead one night in the middle of… of…”

“I thought I could control it,” said Castiel, passing over the last of his load, Dean’s shoes and socks, and coming to stand beside him at the rail.

Dean slipped his shoes on and rested a foot on the lounger chair as he tugged at the laces.

“You should’ve left, Cas,” he said. “You should’ve gone with Hannah.”

“You don’t want me here?” said Castiel.

“It doesn’t fucking matter what I want,” said Dean. “You are going to die here. One way or another. Can’t you see that?”

“Hey, guys?” called a voice from inside. An instant later, Sam appeared at the doorway.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “And if you need more time, I get it. Really. But this thing with Gabriel…”

“Sure, Sammy, no problem,” said Dean. “We’ll finish this later.”

They gathered around the table. Everyone was silent for a minute, until Sam cleared his throat and started to speak.

“Gabriel, you are unhappy with your current situation.”

“Well, aren’t you the perceptive one,” said Gabriel.

“And Aaron,” continued Sam, as if Gabriel hadn’t spoken, “You, also, are unhappy with the way things are going.”

“I don’t like feeling like a jailer,” said Aaron. “He hates me.”

“He doesn’t,” spoke up Castiel, either not noticing or ignoring the annoyed look Gabriel shot in his direction. Dean was betting on the latter.

“Cas is right,” said Dean. “They have a connection. It’s why I approved the placement in the first place, even though Aaron is young and relatively inexperienced.”

“The hell are you talking about, a connection?” said Gabriel.

“Like in the old days,” said Sam. “Back when angels and humans worked side by side, before slavery. Certain humans and angels would form a link.”

“Oh, please,” said Gabriel. “He’s right about me, and it goes both ways. If you think he has any feelings for me beyond how cool it is to have an angel who isn’t a lame old stick in the mud, you’re crazy.”

“You know that’s not true,” said Castiel.

Aaron said nothing.

“Be that as it may,” said Sam, “The fact remains that we can’t just release you, Gabriel. The free angel colonies thrive on secrecy. Angels have to be discreet. Lame old sticks in the mud, as you say.”

“I can be lame,” said Gabriel. “Ever hear one of my knock-knock jokes?”

Dean snorted out a laugh in spite of himself. Sam’s lips twitched in a brief smile.

“You’re too impetuous,” he said. “Like we told you last time. I can’t endanger the safety of an entire colony of angels to take a chance on one.”

Gabriel’s folded hands clenched tighter together on the tabletop.

“So, that’s it, then,” he said. “Another fuck-off from my friendly, neighborhood angel welfare squad.”

“No,” said Sam. “I think there’s another solution, here. Considering the connection you and Aaron have—“

“There is no connection,” broke in Gabriel.

“Jesus, Gabriel, just shut the hell up for once and listen to him,” said Dean.

“Considering the connection,” said Sam, again, “If you and Aaron are both agreeable, I’d suggest fitting you with a false collar and having you remain in Aaron’s care. I know it’s not ideal, but you’d be unbound. A slave in appearance only.”

“Yes,” said Gabriel, immediately. “Yes. Do it.” He looked over at Aaron, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“What happens if something goes wrong?” Aaron asked. “Would I get into trouble?”

“With the way the law currently works,” said Dean, “No, you wouldn’t. Anything that Gabriel does wrong would affect him and him alone. But be aware, Gabe. If you do slip up, we won’t be able to help you. If we do this, your next mistake will be your last.”

“Do it,” said Gabriel. “Aaron’s cool with it.”

“Maybe I’m not,” said Aaron.

“Oh, so now you’re opposed to giving me any freedom what so ever?” said Gabriel.

“How about I’m worried about you getting yourself killed, you asshole!” said Aaron.

Gabriel snorted.

“Sure you are,” he muttered.

“Fine,” said Aaron. “Forget I said anything. Go ahead and do it.”

******

Dean didn’t miss the gleam in Gabriel’s eyes when Sam made the first alteration on the false collar, rendering the sigil inactive. Gabriel leaned forward in his chair, involuntarily it seemed. He looked hungry.

Dean glanced across the table at Castiel, and wasn’t comforted by the uneasy set to his face as he, too, watched Gabriel closely observing even the subtlest movement of Sam’s hand over the leather. Aaron also appeared apprehensive, judging from his uncharacteristically stiff and upright posture. Maybe this was going too fast.

“Okay,” said Sam, before Dean could say anything. He sat back in his chair and studied the sigils he’d just etched. “Gabe, I’m going to remove your collar, now, and make some final adjustments to this one before we make the switch.”

Gabriel turned and presented his back to Sam. As his collar wasn’t particularly strong, and hadn’t really been modified with any more than the basic anti-escape measures, Sam was able to remove it in seconds.

Gabriel closed his eyes as the leather fell away from his skin, and drew in a deep breath. Dean had never noticed any stiffness or evidence of pain in Gabriel’s body language before, but one the collar was removed and Gabriel was finally able to relax, it became apparent how guarded he’d been, how the way he’d always moved and held himself had been overly cautious and unnatural.

Gabriel moved his head from side to side, and rolled his shoulders. His eyes opened slowly, and he smiled crookedly when he found the other three staring at him. He waggled his eyebrows up and down…

“Wait,” said Castiel, half-rising from his stool.

Gabriel vanished.

“Shit,” said Dean, easing back from where he’d lunged forward in a last ditch effort to grab onto Gabriel. “Idiot.”

“He’s completely collarless,” said Sam. “If anyone finds him…”

“He’s dead,” said Dean, and immediately regretted saying it as he watched the color drain from Aaron’s face.

“I can try to find him,” said Castiel, standing up and bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, a mannerism Dean had gotten used to seeing from him just before he took off into flight.

“Hold on,” said Dean. “Not until you put your own false collar on. And I’m coming with you.”

“I will be able to travel much faster without you,” said Castiel, as his collar appeared in his right hand.

“I don’t care,” said Dean, striding forward and helping Castiel fasten the clasp. “You’re already weakened. I don’t want to have to worry about you passing out, or something, in mid-flight.”

“There aren’t any free angel colonies near here,” said Sam. “Though near is a pretty meaningless term for a full powered angel, I suppose.”

“Is that where you think he’d go?” said Dean.

“No,” said Castiel. “Gabriel might be reckless, but he’s not stupid. He wouldn’t put a colony in danger that way.”

“Not stupid?” said Dean. “If flying off alone, without a collar isn’t stupid, I’d like to know what you think is. Oh, that’s right. You’re the guy who thought it was wise to not tell your boyfriend that our relationship is, literally, killing you.”

Castiel looked away, eyes landing on Aaron.

“Gabriel can hear Aaron’s prayers,” he said.

“Oh, I didn’t even think about that,” said Sam. “Because of their link, of course.”

“Well, go ahead,” said Dean. “Start praying.”

Aaron shuffled his feet.

“He won’t listen.”

“Perhaps not at first,” said Castiel. “But it will be very hard for him to ignore. Especially the longer you keep it up.”

“Good,” said Sam. “Aaron, you pray. Cas, you take Dean and search likely places for Gabe. I’ll network with some of the other freedom workers, and see if we can’t get him intercepted by someone friendly.”

Aaron closed his eyes, a look of intense concentration spreading over his face. Castiel walked over to Dean and made to drop a hand onto his shoulder, halting the movement barely and inch from making contact.

“Ready?” he asked, so softly that Dean was pretty sure he was the only one who heard it.

“I guess,” he said.

******

They landed in a familiar looking circle of trees, the sound of the bubbling creek very present just to their left.

“I remember this place,” said Dean. “I found you here the night before the trial. You flew me back to the house.”

“My first flight since being freed from Crowley,” said Castiel, removing his hand from Dean’s shoulder. “I wasn’t sure I’d make it. But you… you gave me courage. Hope.”

“Not like you needed it,” said Dean. “It was an awesome ride.”

Castiel’s cheeks flushed slightly, and Dean changed the subject.

“Why do you think Gabe is here?”

“He found me here that same day,” said Castiel. “He seemed to like it. I thought, maybe for a short flight, his first real flight, he might stop here.”

Dean looked around the small circle. The grass beneath their feet was very obviously undisturbed. No one had been there recently.

“There’s another place we can try,” said Castiel, raising his hand again.

“In a minute,” said Dean.

Castiel tilted his head in confusion.

“We need to talk, Cas,” said Dean. “About what’s going on with you. You’re dying? And I had to hear it from Gabriel?”

“As I said before, I didn’t mean for you to find out that way,” said Castiel.

“You didn’t mean for me to find out at all,” said Dean.

Castiel’s shoulders slumped.

“I was… in denial, you could say,” Castiel said, absentmindedly mending a broken branch overhead with a flick of his wrist. “I didn’t want to believe it was true. I kept telling myself that I could reverse things, somehow. That I just had to find away to control my grace, to get it to stop seeing your soul as something it could bond to.”

“So you lied before,” said Dean. “It is possible for us to bond.”

Castiel shook his head.

“The risk is too great,” said Castiel. “It’s not something that has ever been attempted before. Even if your body was strong enough to withstand the initial energy surge, there’s a very real possibility you could be irrevocably changed.”

“Like, how?” said Dean.

“Permanent brain damage,” said Castiel. “You could become a vegetable. Unable to move or speak… or even think. I couldn’t bear such a thing happening to you, especially if I was the cause of it.”

“But there’s no guarantee that would happen,” said Dean.

“There’s no guarantee that it wouldn’t,” said Castiel.

They stared at each other for what was probably only a few seconds, though it felt like ages to Dean. He understood where Castiel was coming from. He also understood, from the finality in Castiel’s tone that there was no way he’d be persuaded to even make an attempt at a bond.

“How long do you have?” asked Dean, finally.

Castiel shrugged.

“I can’t say for sure,” he said. “Though I think we can say with certainty that the death clause ruling of the trial is a non-issue, at this point.”

“Even if we stopped having sex? I’m perfectly fine to not, Cas, if it’s going to give you more time.”

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel. “The process is already too advanced. I was… selfish. These feelings… these human feelings and sensations were more powerful than I’d anticipated. I kept convincing myself that it wasn’t so bad, that I could fix it. Until…”

“Until you couldn’t,” said Dean.

Castiel lifted his hand again, but instead of clasping Dean’s shoulder, he gently cupped his cheek.

“It was worth it,” he said, his fingers lightly stroking the arch of Dean’s cheekbone and trailing down the length of his jawline. “So worth it. But what’s done is done. Right now, we need to focus on saving Gabriel.”

His hand dropped down onto Dean’s shoulder, and Dean felt the forest spin away.

******

“Where are we now?” asked Dean, as they landed on the well-manicured front lawn of a large, overpriced house.

“Come on, Anna! You’re an angel, you should be able to outrun me, no problem!”

Dean turned in the direction of the girlish, singsong voice and saw Julie, suited up in a track uniform with the local high school’s Viking mascot emblazoned across the front of the top, jogging down the sidewalk. Anna was right by her side, and they were close enough that Dean could hear her reply,

“How am I supposed to watch over you if I’m ahead of you, Miss Julie?”

Anna trailed off as she caught sight of Dean and Castiel in the front yard. Julie followed Anna’s gaze.

“Officer Winchester,” she said. “And Castiel. What are you guys doing here? If my parents find you they’ll—“

“This won’t take long,” said Castiel. “We just need to know if you’ve seen Gabriel.”

“Recently,” said Dean. “Like, in the last half-hour or so.”

Julie looked confused, but Dean could see from the way Anna looked at Castiel that she had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

“No,” said Julie. “We haven’t seen him since… I think it was a few days ago. Right, Anna?”

“It was Saturday,” said Anna.

“Right,” said Julie. “Did something happen to him?”

“Gabriel took off without his collar,” said Dean. “We’re trying to find him before he’s spotted.”

Anna’s eyes grew large, and though her expression remained otherwise unchanged, one of her hands convulsively grasped Julie’s shoulder.

“He’ll be fine, Anna,” said Julie. “Castiel and Officer Winchester will find him. And if we see him, we’ll just tell him to go straight back home.”

“Thank you,” said Castiel.

“Now, you guys gotta leave,” said Julie. “It’s a miracle my parents haven’t looked out the window or something, yet.”

“Right, right,” said Dean. He fished around in his pocket for his cell phone, and came up with nothing. “Damn, I must have left it back at the house. Whaddaya say, Cas? Should we head back and see if Gabe showed up while we were gone? Unless there’s somewhere else you think he’d be.”

“No, you’re right,” said Castiel. “He may have returned to the house.”

******

The landing was a little rougher than usual, and Castiel stumbled as he tried to right himself.

“Hey,” said Dean, grabbing him by the elbow to steady him. “You okay?”

“Fine,” said Castiel, and that’s when Dean noticed that they’d missed the house, landing a few yards away, on the other side of the dormitory.

“No more flying for you until you rest up some,” said Dean.

“That’s probably… for the best,” panted Castiel. He straightened, and moved a step away from Dean. Dean reluctantly let him go, watching closely to make sure Castiel really was able to keep himself standing.

A loud crack echoed through the yard. In an instant, Castiel was on the ground, clutching his shoulder, blood and grace spilling out from between his fingers. Before Dean could make a move toward him stars exploded behind his eyes and everything went black.

******

The too bright sun behind his eyelids was the first thing Dean registered as he fought his way back to consciousness. The second thing was that his hands were cuffed behind him, and his ankles were bound.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice filtered through the haze in his mind, and Dean forced himself to open his eyes, unable to hold back his groan as the sun hit him full force. Sam watched him from where he was seated just a few feet away, hands and feet similarly bound. Aaron was on Sam’s other side, arms behind his back and ankles secured with a thick rope Dean recognized from the garage. Two men dressed in black stood behind Sam and Aaron respectively, and as Dean grew more aware, he felt a presence behind him and surmised that he had a goon of his own as well.

“Well, well, well,” came voice from the opposite direction. “And the third stooge decides to rejoin us in the land of the living.”

Dean managed to push himself up to a sitting position, no mean feat without the use of his hands or legs. Crowley looked down at him, his lips twisted into an oily smirk.

“Hello, boys,” he growled.

The bastard didn’t look a bit different from the day, decades ago, that he’d tossed Castiel in his trunk and driven away. He was still paunchy, still balding, a neatly trimmed beard blanketing the lower part of his face.

“Where’s Cas?” said Dean. Other that a few other men dressed in black, there was no one else in the yard.

“Oh, you mean my angel?” said Crowley. “He’ll be out, shortly. My assistant is fitting him with his new collar. A vast improvement over the old one. Alastair’s been busy while we’ve been in hiding; and I must say, this is one of his most impressive creations to date. Disobedience will no longer be an issue with this one, I can tell you that.”

Reflexively, Dean kicked out his legs in an attempt to free himself, to throw himself at Crowley and beat that smarmy grin off of his face. A thick arm snaked out from behind him and pulled him back, putting pressure on his throat until Dean stopped struggling to get free and switched to struggling to breathe.

“Stop it!” cried Sam.

Crowley nodded, and the weight on Dean’s windpipe eased.

“Fuck you,” gasped Dean.

“Now now,” said Crowley. “That’s the angel’s job, isn’t it?”

Dean felt a renewed surge of anger, and probably would have resumed his attempts to get at Crowley again, if Sam hadn’t spoken.

“No, Dean,” he said. “He’s baiting you, can’t you see that?”

“I don’t care,” said Dean, but he managed to keep still nonetheless.

“As I was saying,” said Crowley. “I’m going to take back what’s rightfully mine. I purchased that angel from your father, fair and square. But, before we leave, I think a little demonstration of what’s in store after I reclaim my property.”

He looked from Dean to Sam, and finally to Aaron.

“However, I don’t believe all three amigos are necessary for this. Let’s get rid of this fidgety one.”

The man standing behind Aaron yanked him roughly to his feet and dragged him forward, away from Sam and Dean.

“Nothing personal,” said Crowley. “Just the wrong place, wrong time for you.”

Crowley’s henchmen positioned Aaron several feet away, leaving him swaying slightly as he fought to maintain his balance with his legs bound so tightly together. “At least it will be quick. Old school, death by firing squad. Well, a squad of one, anyway.”

Aaron struggled to remain standing, glancing in Sam and Dean’s direction, terror plain in his eyes. Dean ground his teeth, cursing his utter inability to help in the slightest. Aaron was going to die. They all were, by the sounds of it, but Aaron was the one person who wasn’t involved. Who shouldn’t have been there at all.

One of the underlings took aim with a handgun. Aaron made a frightened noise and attempted to turn away, losing his balance completely and falling to the ground. The barrel of the gun tracked his movement, and Dean saw the man’s finger start to pull back the trigger. He braced himself, mind still racing to try and find away to stop all of this when suddenly, the shooter was blasted off his feet, catching a decent amount of air before crashing into a birch tree.

“Someone call in an order of hot wings?” said Gabriel, from where he’d materialized at Aaron’s side. The cuffs around Aaron’s wrists and the rope around his legs disappeared with a snap of Gabriel’s fingers, and Aaron scrambled to his feet.

Two of Crowley’s employees charged. Gabriel waved a hand, altering their course and sending them crashing into each other. Both of them fell to the ground, unmoving.

“Whoops, better watch where you’re going, guys,” said Gabriel.

“You should really consider taking your own advice.”

In the half second it took for Dean to look from Gabriel toward the sound of Crowley’s voice, Crowley fired a gun he’d drawn from the pocket of his jacket.

“No!” cried Sam, and Dean turned in time to see Aaron fall back against Gabriel, red blooming over the front of his shirt. “He jumped in front of him,” said Sam, sounding dazed.

Gabriel stared down at Aaron, a look of mixed shock and anguish on his face. He slowly sank down onto the grass, carefully supporting Aaron the whole way.

“Aaron, you dumbass,” Gabriel murmured, and for the second time in his life, Dean saw tears in an angel’s eyes.

“Bollocks,” swore Crowley, tossing the gun away. “Last Enochian engraved bullet wasted on a human.”

His remaining subordinates looked to him for orders.

“Go on, then,” said Crowley, waving them in Gabriel and Aaron’s direction.

Gabriel curled protectively over Aaron, as Aaron choked and writhed in his arms. He watched the men approach; Enochian engraved chains and handcuffs dangling from their hands. Dean was close enough to see the moment of realization on his face. He could either heal Aaron or defend himself. There wasn’t time to do both.

Gabriel pressed to fingers to Aaron’s forehead and closed his eyes. Aaron drew a deep, gasping breath as color returned to his face. His eyes flew open, and he looked down at his bloodied shirt.

“Gabe,” he coughed, trying to sit up.

One of the men in black charged Gabriel with an angel blade. Gabriel blocked him easily, making sure to keep himself between the man and Aaron. The distraction served its purpose, however, as another man approached from behind and looped an Enochian engraved chain around his neck. They dragged him away from Aaron and secured him to a nearby tree with the chains and handcuffs.

Another minion grabbed Aaron, twisting his arms behind his back and shoving him back toward Sam and Dean.

“You okay?” asked Dean.

“It… was an accident,” said Aaron, dully. “I didn’t mean to pray to him, then. It just… happened.”

“Good thing,” said Sam. “That was close.”

“Good?” said Aaron. “He was far away, he was _safe_. I was at the trial. I know what that… that monster did to Castiel. You think he’s going to just set Gabriel free once he’s—“

“Heads up,” said Crowley, and Dean followed his gaze toward the house.

The front door opened and Castiel stepped out onto the porch, a thick, densely engraved leather collar fitted snugly around his neck. He was closely followed by a tall, thin man with dark hair Dean assumed to be Alastair. The author of those journals. The man grasped the back of Castiel’s tunic and guided him around the scattered furniture on the porch, to the stairs. Dean felt his face grow hot, anger bubbling to the surface, at seeing him touching Castiel like that, knowing all he’d done to him in the past.

“Cas!” shouted Dean. If he could just get Castiel to throw off Alastair before they got too close to Crowley and the rest of the underlings maybe… maybe they could…

There was no reaction from Castiel to Dean’s voice. The angel walked forward, down the porch steps and across the yard, his eyes fixed on Crowley.

“As you can see,” said Crowley, his lips curving upward in an obscene smile, “This collar has some unique features. Probably the most impressive is that it renders the subject incapable of noticing or responding to anyone other than his true master.”

Castiel stood at Crowley’s side, back straight, hands down at his sides. Up close, Dean saw that his eyes were dull and glazed, and that the bullet wound to his shoulder was still sluggishly oozing blood. There wasn’t any grace seeping from the wound, though. That was something, at least.

“Cas, hey,” said Dean, quieter now, because Castiel was right there, so close that if Dean’s arms weren’t cuffed behind his back he could have reached out and touched him. “Cas,” Dean said again.

Castiel gave no indication of hearing or seeing Dean. Crowley was the only thing that seemed to exist for him just then. Crowley’s smile widened.

“Alastair really outdid himself this time, wouldn’t you say?”

“You couldn’t even take the bullet out?” said Dean, focusing on the one thing in all of this that seemed fixable.

“It’ll come out eventually,” said Crowley. “If he behaves himself. Which, I believe he’ll find a lot easier this time around. Isn’t that right, Alastair?”

“See for yourself,” said Alastair, and Dean had to suppress a shudder at the nasally, oily tone of the man’s voice.

Crowley turned to Castiel.

“Angel,” he said, “Destroy that bush over there.”

Castiel looked in the direction that Crowley was pointing, and waved a hand. The honeysuckle bush burst into flame. Castiel watched it burn, the bush that he’d spent so much time sitting near, that he’d pruned and watered and procured bees for; his face impassive.

“Kneel,” said Crowley.

Castiel immediately obeyed, casting his eyes upward to focus once again on Crowley’s face. Crowley circled behind Castiel, working his fingers into Castiel’s hair and yanking sharply before trailing the hand down the side of Castiel’s face.

“Open,” he said, and Castiel opened his mouth, his face completely devoid of expression. The sight took Dean back to that first, horrible day after Castiel’s rescue when he’d asked the same thing of Castiel when trying to get him to take the antibiotics Garth had brought. The blank expression, the mindless obedience, it was all the same. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memory to disappear. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by emotions, not when he needed to be alert to the smallest opportunity to free himself and Sam.

“I must admit, I missed that pretty mouth of yours, Angel,” said Crowley, pulling his fingers out from between Castiel’s lips. His hand dropped to Castiel’s uninjured shoulder, resting lightly there.

“Now,” he said. “Wings.”

Castiel blinked, and Dean caught a flash of awareness in his eyes. Castiel was in there somewhere, and on some level, he knew what was happening to him. And he could resist. Dean seized the opportunity.

“You don’t have to do this, Cas,” he said. “You can fight it. Fight him! Don’t let him win!”

Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel heard him or not. A few seconds went by without any movement whatsoever from Castiel… he didn’t manifest his wings, but he didn’t resist in any other way, either. Dean geared up for another attempt at calling out to him, but before he could say anything, Castiel uttered a sharp cry and collapsed. The strip of leather around his neck glowed red, and certain sigils started to smoke.

Crowley watched as Castiel curled in on himself, tremors wracking his frame.

“Another feature of the collar,” he said to Sam and Dean. “Instant punishment for disobedience. The collar is connected directly to his grace, and with every act of defiance, it cuts into it. Alastair, this is truly a work of art.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Alastair, grinning as he looked down at Castiel still thrashing on the ground, the occasional small, pained noise working its way from his throat. The collar continued to glow and smoke with greater intensity with each passing moment.

Castiel looked up at Crowley, who continued to observe the collar’s effect with detached interest. Castiel’s meek, imploring, mien was almost too much for Dean to bear.

“M-Master,” he choked. “Please.”

“Do as you’re told,” said Crowley. “And it will stop. It’s up to you.”

A few more seconds passed, and then Dean heard the faint rustling of feathers, soon overtaken by the sound of Castiel’s uniform ripping as the giant wings materialized. The red glow of the collar faded, and Castiel lowered his head to the ground, his face turned away from Dean. The only movement was the rise and fall of his back, and by connection the base of his wings, as he panted. Dean could hear Gabriel rattling his chains as he struggled to free himself, but couldn’t tear his eyes away from Castiel.

“Up,” said Crowley.

Castiel pushed himself to his knees.

“Wings out.”

Castiel spread his wings, the sun glinting off of the shining black feathers. Dean barely registered Sam and Aaron’s awed gasps from beside him. He continued to try to catch Castiel’s eye, but Castiel seemed to be fully back under Crowley’s control, and stared blankly ahead, eyes unfocused. Crowley approached, and buried his fingers into the thick growth of feathers of Castiel’s left wing. He moved his hand along the entire length of Castiel’s wing. Castiel’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and his head bowed lower and lower with every moment that Crowley’s hand contacted his wing, but he didn’t fight, didn’t try to escape. Crowley’s fingers danced to the end of the wing. He paused, fingering the tip of the longest, largest, flight feather.

“You realize, Angel, that it’s not just the collar’s punishment that you have to endure should you disobey,” said Crowley. He forcefully bent the feather back, until the rachis broke with an audible snap. Castiel cried out and tried to move his wing away from Crowley, but Crowley just laughed and closed his hand over a clump of feathers, tugging the wing back into position.

“Did I say you could move?” he said.

“You bastard!” yelled Gabriel, and the rattling of his chains and the hollow thumps of his body smacking against the tree he was tied to intensified.

Castiel stilled, head bowed. He didn’t react as Crowley selected another feather, and snapped that one as well.

“Alright, then,” said Crowley, sounding disappointed at the lack of reaction. He removed his hand from Castiel’s wing. Dean didn’t miss the way Castiel’s shoulders slumped in apparent relief.

“Get up,” said Crowley, standing back as Castiel slowly, painfully climbed to his feet.

Crowley signaled to one of his employees, who jogged over to him and deposited a large knife in his hand.

“And now, for the final demonstration,” said Crowley. He grabbed Castiel’s right hand and pressed the knife handle to his palm, causing Castiel to reflexively grip the weapon. “Can’t trust you without the collar to smite just yet, but this will work well enough.”

Castiel looked down at the knife in his hand, tilting it this way and that, watching the sun reflecting off of the blade.

“Get on with it,” said Crowley, pointing in Sam, Dean, and Aaron’s direction.

The man standing behind Dean abruptly jerked him to his feet. The same was done to Sam and Aaron on either side of him.

It only took one step to bring Castiel within striking range. His eyes met Dean’s, and it was like staring into a blank, empty void. Castiel raised the knife.

“No!” said Sam, his cry ending in a grunt as the man restraining him silenced him.

“Cas,” said Dean, and stopped. What else could he possibly say, or do? It wasn’t like Castiel could hear him, anyway. Though maybe… maybe there was another way. Dean knew how rare it was, nowadays, with so much anger and betrayal tainting the bond, for angels to be able to hear human prayers. Even if Castiel could hear his prayers normally, he had no idea if anything would penetrate whatever the new collar’s buffer.

Still, it was worth a shot. Even if it didn’t work, perhaps some images would filter through, and maybe give Castiel some peace. Instead of focusing on specific requests or demands, Dean tried to think of the good times; of nights spent cocooned in Castiel’s wings, of Castiel’s contented smile as he watched his honeybees do their thing. Of the otherworldly taste of his kisses and the silky smooth feel of his skin. The way Castiel’s eyes lit up the first time he sampled chocolate cake that Dean smuggled outside during their childhood, and the way they sparkled, bluer than the sky as Castiel urged Dean to join him in the upper branches of the old oak tree. He thought back, back to that very first day, when Dean broke the rules and offered an angel his hand.

Dean just managed to catch the flash of light out of the corner of his eye as the knife wavered slightly in Castiel’s hand.

“Cas?” said Dean, straining forward as much as he was able. “You in there?”

The knife wavered a little more, and something changed in Castiel’s eyes. He was looking at Dean, really looking at him, instead of staring straight through him. It lasted only an instant before the collar once again began to glow. Castiel’s face contorted in pain, and his knees buckled. Instead of going all the way down, though, Castiel pushed himself up and forward, the knife spinning 180 degrees in his hand before the handle smashed into the temple of the man behind Dean.

The man holding Sam shoved him at Dean and launched himself at Castiel as Sam and Dean both crashed to the ground. Castiel pivoted and brought his free hand to the man’s forehead, and the man slumped onto the grass, unconscious. Aaron’s keeper went down in a similar manner, and in the seconds before the rest of Crowley’s men reached them, Castiel flicked his wrist, unbinding Dean, Sam, and Aaron. Dean leapt to his feet to help with the fight, but suddenly found himself behind the Impala with the other two, immobilized.

“Cas, dammit!” he groaned, and strained to see what was happening.

Castiel continued to fight, though he was obviously affected by whatever the collar was doing to him. His movements were jerky, and much slower than normal. Whenever a new wave of pain from the collar would hit him, he’d nearly fall, and several times he was almost overpowered by Crowley’s men. Castiel always managed to rally, though, and his grace remained strong enough, at least, to ensure that Dean, Sam, and Aaron all remained trapped behind the car, out of harm’s way.

One by one, Castiel’s attackers fell to the ground, either unconscious or injured enough to prevent them from fighting. He avoided using lethal force, Dean noticed. Even cut off from the ability to smite, Castiel was careful with his knife, using the handle to hit and only making very careful, shallow slashes with the blade to non-vital parts of the body when he had no other option.

“He’s gonna do it,” breathed Sam. “He’s gonna beat them.”

“He needs to get his head out of his ass and let us help,” said Dean, trying, for at least the hundredth time, to take a step forward. Nothing happened. He couldn’t even wiggle his toes.

Castiel was still struggling with the last of Crowley’s men when Alastair, seemingly out of nowhere, tackled him. The man Castiel had initially been fighting fell, and didn’t get up again.

“Why must you always make things so difficult?” snarled Alastair, knocking Castiel back with blows to his face and chest. Castiel attempted to slash with his knife, but the battle and the collar were taking their toll; Alastair was able to block the sluggish movement, and grabbed for the weapon.

Castiel didn’t give up the knife easily, but by the end of the struggle, Alastair came away with the prize. As Castiel attempted to regain his footing, Alastair sliced the knife through the air, not even appearing to clearly aim, and buried the blade to the hilt in Castiel’s left wing. Castiel cried out and doubled over in pain, frantically attempting to reach for the knife. That an ordinary, non-angelic weapon could hurt him like that didn’t bode well for the state of his grace. But Dean, Sam, and Aaron remained rooted in place, a safe distance from the action.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean swore again.

Alastair resumed his onslaught, and Castiel stopped trying to remove the knife just in time to meet the latest assault head on. He wasn’t strong enough to withstand the force of the momentum, and went down. Alastair straddled him, pinning him down with his knees. He grinned at Castiel, and reached out with one hand, digging his fingers into the bullet wound. Castiel screamed. The collar continued to glow and emit smoke, and Dean swore he saw a spark or two. What would happen if Castiel didn’t give up? Would the thing just burst into flame?

“Less and less impressed over here, Alastair,” said Crowley. He’d been so quiet Dean had almost forgotten he was there. Almost.

“I don’t know what happened,” Alastair called over to him, still holding Castiel down. “The collar’s working. Almost too well, actually. He can’t take much more.”

“Then why is he still fighting?” asked Crowley, through clenched teeth.

“Because I… am not… a slave,” grunted Castiel.

“You could have fooled me,” purred Alastair, grinding into Castiel with his hips.

The collar pulsed again, and Castiel gave a strangled cry of mixed agony and rage. He bucked upward once, twice, and while he didn’t succeed in throwing Alastair off, he managed to unbalance him enough that he could bring up a knee and smash it into Alastair’s groin. Alastair rolled off of Castiel, clutching his balls. Castiel fell upon him with a fury that seemed almost feral, beating Alastair with hands and wings both.

Somehow, Alastair managed to keep his wits about him, and as Castiel delivered a blow with this left wing, Alastair reached up and ripped the knife from the wing’s flesh. His arm snapped forward to stab, but Castiel grasped his wrist and rotated his hand, forcing Alastair to turn the blade on himself. It was excruciatingly slow, and just before the tip of the knife touched the fabric of Alastair’s shirt, Castiel spread his wings, blocking the two of them from view. Alastair’s scream was brief, and ended abruptly.

In the silence that followed, Castiel pushed himself upright, wings flared slightly for balance. He staggered away from where Alastair lay, the knife still buried in his chest.

Castiel swayed where he stood, collar glowing an even brighter red, and tendrils of smoke rising from the deeply etched sigils. His face was pale and drawn, but he gave a small smile as Dean, Sam, Aaron, and Gabriel all hollered their encouragement.

Movement from the very edges of his peripheral vision caught Dean’s attention, and he looked over to see Crowley advancing on Castiel, silver angel blade glinting in the sunlight. No one else noticed; Sam and Aaron were still cheering, and Gabriel was loudly demanding that Castiel free him.

“Cas!” shouted Dean, but Castiel didn’t seem to hear, and Crowley kept drawing closer.

Dean took a deep breath, and bellowed,

“Cas! Behind you!”

Crowley brought the blade down. Miraculously, Castiel seemed to have heard Dean, and half turned. It wasn’t quite enough, and the blade sank partway into Castiel’s chest. Gabriel let loose a string of curses in Enochian, and strained so furiously against his bonds that Dean was afraid he was going to do himself even more harm. Castiel managed to stop the blade advancing further, and threw Crowley off. He sank to his knees, looking down at the grace bleeding out the hole in his shirt in bemusement.

Dean suddenly regained his powers of locomotion, and he sprang into action, not stopping to think about what that must mean for Castiel’s waning powers. Sam started running at the exact same time, and due to his longer stride, was first to reach Crowley. He threw himself at Crowley in a full body tackle, and the two of the fell to the side, away from Castiel.

Just a few paces behind Sam, Dean skidded to a stop in front of Castiel, dropping to his knees just in time to catch Castiel as he pitched forward.

“Hey, hey, I got you, Cas,” said Dean, as Castiel slumped against his chest. “I got you.”

Dean felt the heat of the collar through his T-shirt, and now that he was close enough, he could see that the area where the skin touched the leather had blistered. Grace continued to spill from the wound on Castiel’s chest.

Sam twisted Crowley’s arms behind his back and rolled him onto his stomach, holding him in place with a knee braced at the small of his back.

“Aaron!” he called, “Bring me a pair of those handcuffs!”

“Before you cuff him, bring him over here to he can remove Cas’ collar,” said Dean.

Sam dragged Crowley to his feet and shoved him in Dean and Castiel’s direction.

“I’m not touching that,” said Crowley.

“Oh yes you are,” said Sam.

“Why should I?” said Crowley. “What’s in it for me?”

“How about if you don’t, you’ll get the chance to experience what an angel blade to the heart feels like.”

Crowley shrugged.

“If you kill me, then I’m dead. Collar’s still on your angel.”

Dean felt Castiel spasm against him, and looked down.

“Dean,” said Castiel. “Something’s not…”

He didn’t get any further; his eyes rolled back and he started convulsing in Dean’s arms, limbs slamming against the ground, and wings flailing everywhere.

“Get the collar off, now!” said Dean.

Crowley only smiled as Dean fought to keep Castiel from hurting himself even more.

“Fine, fine,” said Dean, as Castiel’s breathing started to grow irregular. “What do you want?”

“My freedom,” said Crowley. “I walk away. No one comes after me. We never see one another again. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Dean gritted his teeth, but as Castiel continued to seize, he couldn’t see any other option.

“Okay,” he said. “Just hurry up.”

Sam released Crowley’s arms. Crowley leaned forward and lightly brushed the collar with one finger. Instantly, the collar stopped pulsing, glowing, and smoking. The clasp opened, and the leather fell away from Castiel’s skin. Castiel sagged bonelessly against Dean, eyes closed. Crowley straightened.

“Well, boys, it’s been a laugh.”

He turned away from Dean, Sam, and Castiel, and nearly crashed into Gabriel, who was standing quietly, with Aaron hovering just behind him. Crowley and Gabriel stared at each other. Dean only had a view of the back of Crowley’s head, but he could see Gabriel’s face clearly, and feel the barely contained raw fury in the air around him. Crowley took a step back.

“No,” he said. “No! We had a deal.”

Gabriel extended his right arm and clapped his hand onto Crowley’s forehead. Brilliant white light blazed from Crowley’s eyes, nose, and mouth as Gabriel calmly burned his soul from his body.

“I don’t make deals,” Gabriel said, as the smoking corpse fell into the dirt at his feet, his usually warm golden brown eyes flat and cold.

“Gabriel,” said Sam, staring open-mouthed at Crowley’s body. “What did you just do?”

“What you two muttonheads couldn’t,” said Gabriel, stepping over Crowley to move closer to Dean and Castiel.

“We needed to save Cas,” said Dean, shifting Castiel to a more comfortable position, with his shoulders against Dean’s chest and wings laid out on either side of him. While Castiel was no longer in the throes of a full on seizure, he still trembled, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. His skin felt clammy and cold, and he was deathly pale.

“Cas,” said Dean. “You with me?”

There was no response. Dean looked up at Gabriel.

“We got the collar off,” he said, “but he’s not healing.”

“He can’t,” said Gabriel. “His grace was damaged going in…” Dean felt a wave of guilt at that “… and with the combined assaults of the collar and the injuries from the Enochian bullet and celestial blade… he’s not going to be able to compensate.”

“Well, then you do it. Heal him, like you did when that bitch Abbadon took an angel blade to him at the trial.”

Gabriel crouched down next to them. He gently touched a hand to Castiel’s, carefully avoiding his wings, and shook his head.

“Bullshit,” said Dean.

“We’re not all powerful,” said Gabriel, “Despite what you might think. Some things are beyond our ability to fix.”

Gabriel was wrong. He had to be. He didn’t know what Castiel was capable of, wasn’t there for the conversation Dean’d had with Castiel just the previous day.

_I don’t want to lose you._

_You won’t._

“Cas,” said Dean. “Come on, man. Open your eyes.” He ran a hand along Castiel’s wing, waiting for its normal response of pushing up into his hand as the feathers fluffed. The wing gave a single, feeble twitch and stilled. But Castiel’s eyes fluttered open halfway.

“Hey!” said Dean. “Good, Cas. That’s good. You have to stay awake now, okay? Stay with me, okay?”

“Dean…”

“Fuck you, Gabe,” said Dean. “Cas is a fighter. He can pull through this.”

Castiel’s eyes slipped closed again, and the next breath he drew rattled in his chest.

“Just shut-up and listen to me,” said Gabriel. “Before he dies while you’re sitting here working through your denial. There’s one thing we can try. It’s dangerous, though. And there’s no guarantee.”

“Do it,” said Dean. “I don’t give a shit what it is, just do it. If there’s even a chance…”

“It’s not that simple,” said Gabriel. “I’ll need something from you.”

“Anything,” said Dean. “Just take whatever you need and get on with it.”

“I need your soul,” said Gabriel.

Aaron gasped.

“What do you mean, you need his soul?” said Sam.

“For a grace bond,” said Gabriel. “Castiel’s grace isn’t strong enough to heal on it’s own, not even with whatever help I could give him. But if his grace binds with the grace of his mate,” Gabriel’s eyes met Dean’s, “or soul of his mate, it might just be enough.”

“Do it,” said Dean.

“No,” rasped Castiel. His eyes were half-open again, and he’d somehow managed to curl his fingers around Dean’s wrist. “No,” he repeated.

“Well, that’s that,” said Gabriel.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” said Dean. “I’m the one of sound mind and body, here, and I say go ahead.”

“He has to be willing,” said Gabriel.

“For fuck’s sake, Gabe, just do it! It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?”

“You don’t think that I wouldn’t sacrifice you in a second to save him?” said Gabriel, eyes flashing. “He’s worth ten of you. At least. And you know it. When I say he has to be willing, I goddamn mean he has to be willing, or It. Won’t. Work.”

Dean’s eyes burned, and he felt a tear escape, trickling down his cheek as he bent his head toward Castiel.

“You can’t leave me like this,” he said. “Please, let me do this.”

Castiel’s lips moved, but no sound came out. He wet them with his tongue, tried again.

“Risks.”

“Yeah, you already told me about the risks,” said Dean. “I could explode. I could become a vegetable. Or, it could work out just fine, Cas. And we’d both be alive.”

“I… can’t.”

“Don’t do this,” said Dean, trying and failing to blink back more tears. “Don’t make me live like this, knowing that there was a chance I could have saved you. What about if the situation was reversed, huh? How would you feel?”

The idea seemed to cause Castiel even more distress, and he gripped Dean’s wrist tighter as he struggled to get enough breath to speak.

“Don’t…”

“Goes both ways, Cas,” said Dean. “You honestly think I could stand wake up every morning if I just let you die like this?”

Castiel’s eyes bored into Dean’s even as the light in them started to fade. Castiel wheezed out a tiny, barely there little sigh, and gave a slight nod, so subtle that Dean nearly missed it.

“Did you see that?” he said to Gabriel, as Castiel’s eyes closed and his hand slipped from Dean’s wrist.

“Yeah, I saw it,” said Gabriel, pushing back his sleeves. “Brace yourself. This is going to suck.”

He didn’t give Dean a chance to respond, just placed a palm on each of their chests and started muttering in Enochian. At first, Dean felt nothing. Then, he felt… great. There was a warmth enveloping him, familiar, pleasant. It was Castiel, and Dean could feel him everywhere, around him, and inside of him. He was about to tell Gabriel how wrong he was about the whole thing when he felt a tingling just behind his ribs. The tingling morphed into pain, into agony, a white-hot burning agony; and it all happened faster than Dean could process. He felt as though he was being consumed from the inside by fire, and when he opened his eyes all he could see was white… a searing, hot white that burned him from the outside while the fire inside him burned from within.

 _So this is what it feels like to explode_ , he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I tried so hard not to have this be a cliffhanger after what I did to you last time, but I just couldn't make it work any other way. Just one chapter to go, and I PROMISE this one will be up by next weekend. Can't believe we're almost done!


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... long week, huh? *Hangs head in shame*
> 
> I don't even know how to begin to apologize this long wait. Just know that I've been thinking of this story every day, and that I finished it as soon as I was able in between all sorts of real life craziness (job drama, lost my rental house, became a homeowner and immediately had to work around the clock to make said home livable). 
> 
> I haven't even allowed myself to read comments on the last chapter (usually the highlight of my day when one pops up) because I felt so guilty.
> 
> But, enough of that. Here is the final chapter!

Castiel was jolted back into awareness by the ache in his grace, a deep, hollow throbbing that was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, worse than anything he’d endured during all those years at the hands of Alastair and Crowley. Worse even than when he’d been dying.

He felt empty; something was missing, something vital. _Dean_. Castiel instinctively reached out, but his hands only grasped the air. He fell back onto the wrinkled sheets he lay upon. Dean wasn’t there. Something must have gone wrong, and Dean was… Dean was…

Moisture leaked from his still closed eyes, cutting an icy, stinging track across his skin. Cold. He was so cold. He was used to his grace burning hot within him, used to the sensation of it warming him from the inside out. Castiel remembered feeling physically cold in the later years of his captivity, and in the early days after his rescue from Crowley, as the combination of his injuries and the collar he wore slowly poisoned his grace.

This was different. There was no external assault to his grace. The problem was with his grace itself. It was fragmented; yearning to be made whole again, it reached out, stretched, and found nothing.

More tears spilled from Castiel’s eyes. Such a human reaction, no doubt due to the spark of Dean’s soul that he could feel amidst the shattered remnants of his grace. Castiel clung desperately to that spark; it was all that remained of Dean.

Another wave of pain. Castiel embraced it for what it was, a sign that it would all be over soon. A grace that had been bound to another couldn’t exist by itself, couldn’t sustain life on its own. He should have been stronger, should have refused to allow Dean to sacrifice himself, to throw his life away on a one in a million chance to save a mere angel.

“I think he’s coming around.”

Castiel didn’t bother trying to identify the voice. It wasn’t the one he needed to hear, the one he longed for. It wasn’t addressing him in any case, and the additional presence in the room was equally unimportant to him.

“Go… go check on…” the voice faded away.

Castiel started as a hand brushed damp curls of hair from his clammy forehead. He would have shrunk away from the unwanted contact if he were able… the hand felt alien, devoid of the typical warmth and affection he’d come to associate with friendly touch.

“Up and at ‘em, lazy bones,” said the voice. Closer this time, right next to the bed. And there was something about the voice, something that was, perhaps, familiar. The thought was too much for Castiel to hold on to, though, as the ache rose up within him again, reminding him of what he’d lost.

“Come on, sweet cheeks, let’s see those baby blues.”

Castiel didn’t see the point of opening his eyes. How could he possibly face looking upon the world without his mate? He turned his head away from the voice. He longed to wrap himself in his wings as a buffer between him and the unwanted presence at his side, but his wings must have shifted from this dimension during the bonding process, and he lacked the strength to bring them over.

“Please, brother,” the voice was more insistent, now, the tone suddenly serious. “I know it’s hard, but I need you awake.”

Gabriel. Of course, Gabriel would be there, would stay with him. Castiel struggled to force his eyes open. Gabriel’s face swam into focus above him.

“Nice work, kiddo,” Gabriel said with a smile. “Let’s see if we can’t get you a little more vertical, now.”

Gabriel locked an arm behind Castiel’s shoulders and began slowly easing him up from the bed, guiding him into a sitting position. It was agony. Castiel pressed a hand to his sternum, just above where his grace pulsed raw and ragged. He looked down, expecting there to be some physical manifestation of the damage inside, but saw only smooth, bare skin. Not only was there no evidence of his severed grace, but both the bullet hole and the wound from the angel blade had also healed. How strange.

Gabriel rearranged the pillows and tried to help Castiel sit back against them, but it hurt too much, and Castiel curled forward, his hand still pressed to his chest.

“Please,” rasped Castiel. “Please, just leave me. I can’t…”

Gabriel sat down on the bed and ducked his head, catching Castiel’s eye.

“Cas,” he said, and the use of the Winchesters’ nickname for him, if anything, hurt even worse. It was proving to be an effective way of getting his attention, however. Castiel straightened as much as he was able, and glared at Gabriel. How dare he. Gabriel flinched under Castiel’s gaze, but didn’t look away.

“Dean’s alive.”

Castiel’s grace flared at the sound of the name, pain radiating from the center of his chest to the very tips of his toes and fingers. Gabriel braced his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, holding him steady as he listed to one side. Castiel allowed Gabriel to support him and concentrated, trying to pick up any hint of Dean being near. After a few moments, he felt it, faint and muddled. Dean was alive. And he was close.

“Why?” It took some effort just to form his lips around that one word, and he wasn’t able to articulate the rest of the question… why Gabriel, of all people, would commit the unspeakable cruelty of keeping two newly bonded beings apart.

“I’m sorry,” said Gabriel, his voice shaky. “I’m so sorry, brother. But we had to. Every time we tried to put the two of you together, you instinctively kept trying to heal Dean. You poured more and more of your grace into him, and it was shifting the balance. If we allowed it to continue, you both would have died. You needed to be lucid before the two of you could be together again.”

“Dean is… damaged?”

Gabriel hesitated, and Castiel gripped his wrist so tightly that he hissed in pain.

“I don’t think so,” Gabriel gasped. “I think you were just reacting to the piece of his soul that I used to complete the bond… you sensed it was missing from him, and you just…” he paused as Castiel swung his legs off of the bed and tried to push himself upright. If Dean was alive, that meant that he was in a similar state to Castiel, suffering in the separation from his mate. And that was unacceptable. Castiel’s knees buckled halfway up, and Gabriel caught him before he hit the floor.

“I’ll take you,” he said, placing Castiel’s arm over his shoulder and curling his arm around Castiel’s waist. “I’ll take you to him right now. He’s unconscious, and has been since the bonding. I can’t sense anything majorly wrong, but I can’t be sure…”

Castiel trembled against Gabriel, partly from the effort of keeping himself standing, and partly because he was still so _cold_. His proximity to Gabriel did nothing to counteract it.

“Now,” said Castiel, taking a step toward the bedroom door. Gabriel had to either move with him or allow him to fall.

They made their way down the hall to Dean’s room, Castiel growing weaker with each step, but also more determined, as his grace reached out, seeking Dean. Sam met them at the door, looking apprehensive.

“Coming through, Lurch,” said Gabriel, pushing past Sam.

“Gabe, are you sure…”

Gabriel didn’t respond, just continued half-carrying Castiel across the room.

Dean lay motionless in the center of his bed, covers drawn up over his bare shoulders, eyes closed. Castiel resisted the impulse to crawl under the blankets with him, even though his grace, along with that tiny piece of Dean’s soul, urged him to do so. It seemed wrong, somehow, to do something so intimate without Dean’s knowledge or permission.

Instead, Castiel dropped down heavily into a chair that had been placed next to the bed, no doubt for Sam’s benefit, and pulled back the comforter and sheets enough so that he could place a hand on Dean’s chest, directly over his heart. For an instant nothing happened, except that Castiel felt Dean’s soul and the small piece of Castiel’s grace within flutter at his touch. Then, before Castiel could tell Gabriel and Sam what he’d felt, Dean’s eyes flew open and he gasped. Sam jumped and tried to rush over to them, but Gabriel grabbed his arm, holding him in place.

“Just give them a minute,” he said, as Sam started to protest.

Dean blinked, long and slow, his eyes staying closed for so long it seemed he’d fallen unconscious again. Castiel made to remove his hand from Dean’s chest, but Dean snaked one of his hands from beneath the blankets and grasped Castiel’s with surprising strength, his head coming several inches off the pillow. His eyes opened, hazy with exhaustion and pain, and locked onto Castiel’s.

“Cas,” he croaked. “Did… did it work?”

“Yes, Dean,” said Castiel. “It worked.”

Dean’s head fell back onto the pillow, though he still clung to Castiel’s hand.

“Hurts,” he said, through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel.

“Why’re you so far ‘way?”

“I—“

Dean tugged at Castiel’s hand.

“Get in here.”

Castiel stumbled off of the chair, knees colliding with the side of the bed, and pretty much collapsed on top of it. Somehow, clumsily, gracelessly, he managed to maneuver himself beneath the covers. Dean dropped his hand in favor of pressing himself as close to Castiel as possible, tucking his head beneath Castiel’s chin. At the first touch of skin against skin, some of the pain eased, and Castiel finally felt wonderfully, blessedly, warm.

Dean sighed, a soft puff of air against Castiel’s shoulder.

“Better,” he said.

Castiel pulled him closer, tangling their legs together, trying to put as much of their bodies in contact as possible. The only thing between them was the thin material of their boxers, and even that was too much, really, but removing them would have taken too much effort. When they were as close as they could be, limbs intertwined, Castiel rested his chin on top of Dean’s head and closed his eyes.

There was movement from the other side of the room.

“Come on, Bullwinkle, let’s leave those crazy kids to it.”

“No,” said Sam. “Dean’s been comatose for two days, he needs fluids, and food, and probably a shower and… other stuff.”

“He’ll get it,” said Gabriel. “But, right now, he needs this more. Castiel will make sure he’s okay.”

“Castiel’s not in any condition to be taking care of anyone!”

There were sounds of a scuffle, but Castiel couldn’t be bothered to even open his eyes, much less turn around and see what was happening. When Gabriel next spoke, he sounded out of breath.

“Sam. Stop. They need time… they need time alone… you know this! Any other pair of angels, and you would say the same thing.”

“This is different,” said Sam. “Dean’s not an angel.”

******

For hours after Gabriel finally persuaded Sam to leave the room, the most Castiel and Dean could do was cling to each other. Castiel buried his nose in Dean’s hair, inhaling his familiar scent, as they breathed together, their chests rising and falling in sync. Their respective soul/grace combinations rejoiced at the closeness, and Castiel felt them, both his and Dean’s, healing and growing stronger.

Some time later, as the afternoon shadows lengthened and the sunlight dimmed, Castiel felt Dean stir against him. His arms automatically tightened around Dean, drawing him closer. He felt his heart rate increase as he fought to control the flash of fear that stole over him at the thought of what had very nearly happened to Dean.

“Hey,” murmured Dean, smoothing a hand over Castiel’s back. “I’m okay, Cas. I’m fine.”

It was early, though. Dean probably hadn’t even begun to process the enormity of what he’d done, of what he’d sacrificed. And what if when he realized… what if he felt regret? There was no way to undo a grace/soul bond. No way that Dean would survive, at any rate.

“Wow,” said Dean, lifting his head slightly and allowing their eyes to meet. “It’s loud.”

“Loud?”

“You. In my head. I can hear you thinking. And I can feel this massive wave of guilt and… like… distress. That coming from you?”

“Yes,” said Castiel, easing back ever so slightly. “Yes, that… happens. I’m sorry—“

“Dude, no. You don’t have to apologize. That’s not what I meant. Look. This thing, it goes both ways, right?”

Without waiting for an answer, Dean leaned forward, closing the distance between them and resting their foreheads together.

_I knew what I was doing. I wanted this. I wanted this with you._

Castiel heard the words, as clear as if Dean had spoken them aloud, and he was enveloped by a sudden sense of peace, contentment, and affection. He felt himself relax, his eyes falling closed as he leaned once more into Dean’s warmth.

“Cool,” said Dean, eyelashes fluttering against Castiel’s cheek. “Wonder what else I can do?”

“Do?” said Castiel, not bothering to lift his head or open his eyes. He was far too comfortable right where he was; Dean’s sleepy satisfaction a soothing balm over his moment of panic.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Like, what other powers do I have?”

“You don’t have powers, Dean.”

“Sure I do. I can read minds.”

“That’s the bond,” said Castiel, shifting onto his back and maneuvering Dean so that his head was pillowed on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Well sure,” said Dean. “But I’ve got your grace inside me, don’t I? I can feel it.” He placed a hand on his chest, over his heart. “Right here, especially. It felt like an icepick between my ribs at first, but since Gabriel brought you in it’s changed. Now it’s warm. Kinda tingly.”

Castiel lifted his hand and placed it over Dean’s, feeling the pieces of grace and soul react to the deliberate contact.

“My grace will most likely cause you to be more resistant to disease and injury,” said Castiel. “And if you do become sick or hurt, you will heal faster and more effectively than you did before.”

“That’ll come in handy,” said Dean.

“And your lifespan is probably going to resemble that of an angel, rather than a human, now.”

Dean grinned.

“So much for Chuck’s death clause, then,” he said. He propped himself up on his elbow, his hand, and Castiel’s, sliding off of his chest. Dean linked their fingers together, their joined hands resting in the space between them. “And, you know, as nice as this is,” Dean indicated his and Castiel’s positions on the bed, “how long does this last? Because I’m going to have to go back to work at some point. And I don’t think it would go over well for me to have an angel draped over me as I go about my daily routine, you know?”

Castiel frowned. Most angels were able to bear short separations from their mates after a few weeks. He didn’t like the idea of ever letting Dean out of his sight, though. Perhaps something could be worked out where he could accompany Dean to the station, as he had in the days following the trial.

“Maybe,” said Dean, responding as though Castiel had spoken aloud. “You could join the task force. We really should have had an angel on board years ago. But we’d still have to be separated occasionally. And right now… if I’m not touching you, it hurts. Bad.”

“There will always be some level of discomfort with separation,” said Castiel. “But it will get easier in the coming weeks, I think.”

Even just discussing being apart was enough to make Castiel anxious. He could feel the same response in Dean, and at the same time they leaned into each other, eliminating the already negligible distance between them. Their boxer clad groins brushed together, and Castiel felt a frisson of pleasure. Dean shivered.

“Cas,” he grunted. “Thought that wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. Angel bond, and all.”

Castiel gave a helpless shrug, his hips rolling against Dean’s almost of their own accord and his lips finding the stubbled skin just below Dean’s jawline. Dean let out a shaky breath and turned his attention to Castiel’s neck, trailing kisses upwards until his mouth found Castiel’s. They hovered, just shy of touching, for what seemed like hours, but was really probably only a few seconds.

Castiel could feel the heat of Dean’s breath mingling with his own. Their shared bits of grace and soul quivered in their chests in a way that seemed almost approving to Castiel. Giving in to the pull he could feel from Dean, he dropped his head into a kiss that was at once warm and familiar and completely alien.

It took him a while to recognize it, amidst his building arousal and the pleasure radiating from the bonded grace/soul at his core, but he gradually became aware of a growing sense of confusion. He realized it was coming from Dean, seconds before Dean broke off the kiss with a gasp.

“What the hell?” panted Dean. “Cas, this shouldn’t be… you said this wasn’t possible.”

Even as the words left his mouth, he leaned down and dropped a quick kiss on Castiel’s shoulder, as though he couldn’t help himself.

“Between angels,” murmured Castiel, concentrating on wriggling free of his boxers beneath the covers. His lips met Dean’s again, and the kiss felt less alien this time as he became used the sensation of the bond reacting to each touch. Dean returned the kiss, his hands creeping up over Castiel’s shoulders, following the hard line of muscle over his back. Castiel ended the kiss when he felt Dean’s confusion building again, and he met Dean’s startled gaze.

“You are human, Dean,” said Castiel. “Just as my grace is affecting you, so your human soul is affecting me.”

He felt the confusion lessen.

“Best of both worlds, is that what you’re saying?” asked Dean. His lips were kiss swollen and much more pink than normal. It was very distracting.

“I… yes, I suppose so,” said Castiel.

Dean grinned. He turned his head just slightly to the side, watching as Castiel’s eyes tracked his lips.

“This mind melding thing is fun,” he said, turning in the other direction, still watching Castiel’s reaction.

“You,” growled Castiel, and caught Dean’s face in both hands, keeping him still as he kissed him deeply and thoroughly. Dean continued to chuckle a little, even through the kiss. Castiel released his face and worked his hands beneath the covers, fingers finding the elastic band of Dean’s boxers. Dean immediately stopped laughing.

Castiel eased the shorts off and took hold of Dean’s half-hard length with one hand while pulling the blankets and comforter away with the other. He settled himself between Dean’s thighs and fastened his lips over the head of Dean’s cock. He swirled his tongue around the tip just briefly before swallowing him down entirely.

It was as though an explosion went off in Castiel’s brain; and he struggled to process both the weight and taste of Dean on his tongue and the pleasure Dean felt as Castiel licked and swallowed around him. It was almost too much to experience at once.

Encouragement seemed to emanate from the bond, and Castiel focused on that. That, and the fact that he’d discovered that he could anticipate what Dean wanted him to do next, at the very moment the thought occurred to Dean. This was infinitely easier than guessing, and Castiel marveled at both being able to experience and cause Dean’s impending orgasm.

“Holy shit,” gasped Dean, his eyelids flickering as Castiel rolled his balls between his fingers and laved at Dean’s shaft with his tongue. Dean’s hands dropped down to rest on Castiel’s shoulders, and that’s all it took for Castiel’s wings to manifest, whole and strong, with a rush of wind and fluttering feathers.

Dean instantly grabbed onto the wings, eliciting a moan from deep within Castiel’s throat.

“I… I can feel them,” breathed Dean, his hands alternately clenching and unclenching over the large bend of each wing. “I can feel… wings. And I can feel… how… how they feel… when my hands…” Dean trailed off, throwing his head back against the pillow. Castiel saw the sheen of sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat as he raised his eyes. He tasted precome, and Dean gripped his wings still tighter.

“Close,” groaned Dean. “Wait. Stop. Cas, can you stop?”

Castiel pulled off, wincing a little at the stab of protest that seemed to come from the bond. He stretched his wings out further, draping the long flight feathers over Dean’s chest in an effort to maintain some sort of intimate contact. Dean closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When he opened his eyes, the pupils were blown wide, and they seemed an even deeper green than usual.

“I want to come with you inside me, Cas,” he said, still out of breath. “I need you inside me.”

Still holding Dean’s gaze, Castiel nodded. Dean reached for the top drawer of his nightstand and withdrew a tube of lubricant. He thrust it in Castiel’s direction and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Castiel coated his fingers, dragging the tips of his feathers over Dean’s exposed back. Dean’s entire body trembled, and Castiel’s legs nearly gave way as he was hit with the full force of pleasure from both of them.

“Fuck, Cas,” said Dean. “Hurry up back there. I don’t know how much more I can—“ he broke off as Castiel ever so slightly increased the pressure of his feathers on Dean’s skin, and slipped one finger inside, bracing his other hand lightly against Dean’s hip.

Castiel was careful, continuing to stretch and prep even as Dean, both silently and aloud, begged for more. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Dean, and bewildering as it was to feel both his own body’s responses as well as Dean’s, Castiel took comfort in knowing that he would be aware if Dean experienced even the slightest discomfort.

Castiel finally withdrew his fingers and slicked his cock. He was about to enter Dean when he felt a flicker of doubt from Dean. He concentrated harder, struggling to decipher the emotion.

_It won’t hurt you this time, right? Because of the bond-thing?_

Castiel slowly eased his way inside, pressing his chest to Dean’s back as he did so. His lips moved against the shell of Dean’s ear as he whispered,

“It was my grace attempting to complete our bond that was the source of the pain. All is well now, Dean.”

Dean trembled beneath him, and Castiel wrapped both his wings and his arms around his front. He leaned back, his hips thrusting rhythmically, pulling Dean back against him as he sat back on his heels. Dean rested his head on Castiel’s shoulder, breathing hot puffs of air against Castiel’s neck as Castiel increased his pace. Castiel unwound his arms from around Dean’s chest and, still supporting him with his wings, began jacking him in time with his thrusts. It was almost impossible, now, to separate one pleasure from the other, and they both cried out as Dean spilled over Castiel’s fist, Castiel’s orgasm following barely a second later.

It was all they could do to just hold on to each other after that, their bodies pressed together, slick with sweat, chests heaving. Castiel brushed Dean’s hair back off of his glistening forehead with his clean hand, and loosened the hold his wings had, just a little. They traded kisses, lazy and slow, the angle a little awkward, but neither willing to move apart just yet.

“I could definitely get used to this,” said Dean, his eyes drifting closed as he leaned more of his weight against Castiel.

Castiel felt the small feathers over the top of his wings fluffing out, and felt Dean feeling it, too. Dean opened one eye.

“I don’t even need that damned mind meld thing to know how you’re feeling right now, either.”

Castiel buried his face in the back of Dean’s neck and allowed his feathers to fluff out further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is. Thanks to everyone who stuck with me during the long periods between updates. 
> 
> This was my first fan fiction, first slash fic, first time posting anything I've written for the public to read, and my first time writing in this sort of format as a work in progress and seeing feedback along the way. It has been an amazing experience, and I thank all of you who commented or left kudos... it means so much!


End file.
